


La Vie Boheme

by Ameriphobia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Use, FACE Family, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Now complete, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Content, only sad like 1/2 of the time, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 129,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameriphobia/pseuds/Ameriphobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After running away from his abusive foster family at the age of 15, Alfred Jones was rescued from the streets of New York by aspiring author/stripper Arthur Kirkland. Since then, Alfred has managed to find a place among Arthur's gang of misfit, artist friends. But Alfred's life, as well as the lives of his friends, is turned on its head when Alfred's brother and his adoptive father are finally able to find Alfred after 13 long years of accidental separation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this first chapter is mostly just silliness, but I hope you like it! My first note is that Laura is one of three possible human names given to Belgium (because I totally had to look that up) so that's who that is. My second note is just an apology for my horrendous French at the end. Thank you so much for reading!

“Alfred!” The voice is very soft. Although it seems to be quiet by nature, it also sounds as if it’s coming from far away; several yards, Alfred would say. It is very insistent. Alfred feels as if there’s cotton in his ears.

“Alfred…they’re taking me…they’re trying to take me away from you….”

“I won’t let them.” The desperate words fall from Alfred’s lips without his controlling them. Gripped by sudden panic, he reaches out into the darkness, attempting to catch hold of something that isn’t there. Somewhere in front of him, Alfred hears the muffled sobs growing even fainter and farther away. He continues to reach towards the sound, towards the voice that he can almost no longer hear.

Alfred’s heart jolts as he is suddenly gripped from behind by an unknown pair of arms. He shivers with something deeper than fear as the person who has trapped him leans down near his face and whispers words in his ear, in a tone that should be comforting, but instead sends shivers cascading down Alfred’s spine.

“Shh, Alfred, it’s alright. You need to stop yelling. Everything is going to be alright.”

In front of him, there is a mirror; he can’t remember when it had appeared, but he also can’t remember a time without it being there. From the mirror’s surface, a boy stares back at him. He looks like Alfred, but he is not Alfred. He is trying to speak through the glass, but no sound is breaking through the translucent barrier. Until the boy lets out a terrible scream.

The sound erupts in Alfred’s ears. The glass shatters.

The boy is gone.

 

 **Beep, beep, beep**.

“Uhg….”

**Beep, beep, beep.**

Alfred rolled over. Sensing the early morning darkness, his body made an educated decision to remain in its current, horizontal position, happily ignoring the fact that his alarm clock was about to go into full-blown existential crisis mode at any second.

**BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.**

 

“Fine!” he shouted at the panicking appliance, slamming his fist down on the off button with enough force to send it sliding across the wooden floor. On said wooden floor lay the futon that was currently playing host to Alfred’s unmoving body . After a few seconds of struggling, he managed to find his glasses, and shoved them onto his face. The time on the clock read 4:34 AM.

“Christ,” he mumbled as he rolled out of bed and began searching the floor for his clothes. Working the “early bird” shift, which Alfred had more appropriately renamed the “ass-crack of dawn hellish nightmare” at McDonald’s, an institution that he was beginning to love less and less with every dreadful morning coffee rush, was going to take some getting used to. Possibly the rest of Alfred’s life, if the past few days were any indication of what the future would hold.

When Alfred entered the main room of their small one-bedroom apartment, Arthur, his twenty-six-year old English roommate, was sitting at his little cluttered desk, typing unenthusiastically on his computer. As usual, there was a cup of tea steaming near his right hand, and a cigarette resting between his lips. Arthur was an aspiring novelist.

He didn’t look up when Alfred entered. “Sleep well?” he asked lazily.

“Mmmph.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. I heard you shouting at the alarm clock.”

Alfred ran a hand through his dirty blond hair as he looked at his friend, still in a daze from having just woken up. “Still up from last night?” he questioned.

“Just got home a few minutes ago.”

Alfred thought about asking Arthur what he had been doing to keep him out until almost five in the morning, considering he usually only worked at the club until about one or two, but an impressively large yawn interrupted his thought process.

Jumping at the chance to mock Alfred’s pain as ever, Arthur made a show of loudly closing his laptop, and stretched as he stood up and put out his cigarette. “Well, I’m off to bed,” he proclaimed smugly, as Alfred glared sleepily at him, “I hope you’ve made it.” There was only enough room in the apartment for one futon, but thanks to their opposing schedules Arthur and Alfred now rarely had to share, which was completely essential to the both of them maintaining a certain level of sanity.

“Shut up,” Alfred mumbled, guiltily realizing that he had not, in fact, made the bed, “It isn’t even a bed. Fuck, it isn’t even a real futon.”

“It’s a Japanese futon…what on Earth are you doing?” While Arthur had been speaking, Alfred had begun to sniff the air like a dog.

“Mmm…Do I smell doughnuts?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, placing his hands on his hips in his favorite gesture of general disapproval, “I picked some up for you on the way home. But I’m not sure if you deserve them if you’ve decided to make fun of my taste in furniture.”

Alfred panicked, “But Artie,” he whined, “I’m so _tired_. I need _doughnuts_!”

Arthur sighed, “Fine. They’re on the counter. And don’t call me ‘Artie’.”

“Awesome! You’re the best, man.” Said Alfred, suddenly energized as he walked to the counter and began to stuff his face with fried pastries.

Arthur shook his head as he made his way to the counter to place his empty mug in the sink, “Why are you so tired, anyway? I told you to start going to bed earlier if you’re going to work this shift.” Alfred looked away shamefully. Arthur groaned, “You were up playing video games with Kiku again, weren’t you?”

Alfred swallowed a bite of doughnut. “He just got a new one, Arthur! And he brought these crazy Japanese snacks that start off like powder and then turn into little adorable hamburgers!” To emphasize the true smallness of the hamburgers, Alfred held up his right hand, leaving little more than an inch of space between his thumb and forefinger.

Arthur stared at his younger roommate. Standing hunched over the counter with his tired red eyes and bed head, shoveling doughnuts in his mouth with gusto, and ranting on about magic Japanese hamburgers, he honestly looked more than a little insane. Arthur decided it was best to end the conversation there, and to talk to Alfred when he was a bit more… coherent.

“Well, I’m off to bed. Have fun flipping burgers…oh, and don’t forget that Kiku and Feli’s exhibition is tonight.”

“Uhhhg….”

“Don’t be rude. They’re your friends.”

“I just don’t think I understand art.”

“That’s because you’re uncultured.”

“Whatever.”

Arthur huffed as he walked towards the bedroom.

“Good night!” Alfred mumbled bitterly, as Arthur closed the door behind him.

                                                                                                                                          ~

Ludwig was not having a good day. In fact, it was precisely days like this one that made him wonder why he had ever made the decision to join the NYPD in the first place. It was days like this when Ludwig wished that the entire city was like his kitchen, and that he could wipe it clean methodically with disinfectants, and sponges, and no interruptions. After all, no one had ever heard of a speck of dust or a grease spot protesting, or trying to run.

But, Ludwig thought, a philosophical mood overtaking him as he surveyed the lazily humming, summer afternoon streets of Little Italy with perpetual suspicion, people are not really much like grease spots at all.

The day was July first, and one would think that the 90 degree (Fahrenheit, obviously) weather plus humidity would render the citizens of his adopted city complacent, with less of an inclination towards causing trouble and more of a desire to move their bodies as little as possible throughout the day; this was certainly how Ludwig felt, after all, as he sweated profusely through his navy blue uniform. However, the heat was apparently having the opposite effect on the majority of the city’s population, as they seemed to be experiencing some kind of collective emotional breakdown under the sun’s continuous oppressive assault. The result was an increased number of fights, minor thefts, and acts of vandalism that had left Ludwig stewing in equal parts exhaustion and agitation.

For the moment, however, everything appeared to be relatively calm. Large groups of tourists wandered down the street, taking pictures (mostly of themselves) on their phones, and enjoying rapidly melting cups of gelato, as men with suits and thick accents stood outside of small Italian restaurants, shouting at them and shoving menus in their faces. From somewhere nearby, the sounds of yelling men and metal clanking typical of construction work were constantly present, and, from somewhere a bit closer by, someone was playing a calm, meandering melody on an acoustic guitar.

Feeling dazed and as overheated as a slowly baking potato, Ludwig decided to take a break from walking and stand on the edge of the busy sidewalk for a few minutes. Almost as soon as he stopped his steady pace, however, he was abruptly slammed into by someone who seemed to have been walking quite quickly.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, you stupid bastard,” snapped the person in question, with a thick, biting Italian accent. He was not looking at Ludwig; rather, he was bent over on the ground, attempting to gather the possessions that had apparently fallen out of his bag when the two had collided, hoping to grab them before they were swept away by the endless and aggressive stream of people walking on the sidewalk. Looking him over quickly, as he had grown accustomed to doing with new people, Ludwig noted that he was a young man, probably in his early twenties. His eyes and hair were of a similar dark brown, and his skin was tan. He was dressed in all black, regardless of the heat, his shirt slightly torn and pants too tight (in Ludwig’s opinion, anyway). Despite the fact that Ludwig had already unconsciously labeled the boy as a potential troublemaker, he attempted to make amends.

“Sorry…ah, here. Let me help you with that.” As Ludwig crouched down to help him with his things, he realized that the boy was suddenly staring up at him, his large brown eyes widened in horror. Dismissing the expression as a reaction to the realization that he had just cursed at a police officer, Ludwig ignored it as he reached out a hand for one of the items that the boy had dropped.

“Wait…no, I….” The boy stammered helplessly. Ludwig sighed heavily as he realized what had been the contents of the boy’s bag.

In his hand was an average-sized can of acrylic spray paint.

He tilted his head up to look straight at the boy, who was doing little to keep the terror from his features. “And just what were you planning to do with these, kid?” He asked, lowering his voice to a more intimidating register as he held up the incriminating can of paint. In times like this, he always found that his strong German accent could be a very powerful persuasive tool.

He never got to hear the boy’s answer, though, because before Ludwig could react he had dropped his belongings, jumped up onto his feet with surprising agility, and broken into a run, shoving aside the protesting masses as he barreled down the sidewalk.

“What- _scheiße_ ,” Ludwig cursed, running a hand through his sweat-drenched blond hair as he begrudgingly began to run after the delinquent. He was in good shape- in his late twenties, well-muscled, still not many years out of training- but that didn’t mean that he was excited to go running marathons around New York in the early summer heat for the sake of some insolent kid.

And yet, true to his profession, Ludwig dutifully pursued the offender, causing minor disruptions within the crowd as he went. Then he paused as his eyes searched for a glimpse of that dark brown hair. After a few moments of thinking that maybe he has lost him, he caught sight of the delinquent just as he turned the street corner. Ludwig followed, bounding around the corner with purpose.

After that, several things occurred very rapidly. Firstly, Ludwig found himself making some unwanted contact with the hard concrete as he tripped on several unfortunately placed objects. Secondly, as he gathered his wits from the fall, Ludwig realized that he was currently sprawled out on the hard, dirty concrete, surrounded by a mess of square objects, and lying on top of something strangely soft and gangly.

Thirdly, as some small whimpering sounds were emitted from underneath him, Ludwig became aware that the object underneath him was, in fact, a person.  
He immediately flung himself into a sitting position, feeling a slight twinge of pain as he did so. Before he could properly tend to the person who he had probably just crushed, however, the sounds of a struggle happening somewhere above his head caused Ludwig to look up.

The sounds were coming from the Italian boy, who was protesting loudly at a man who had at some point appeared behind him and lovingly, but somewhat forcefully, obstructed any attempts of the former to outrun his pursuer by spinning him around and throwing an arm over the boy’s shoulders. He, much like the troublesome youth who was struggling and fuming within his grasp, had a dark complexion, with the exception of his eyes, which were of a startling, bright green. Slung over one of the man’s shoulders was a heavily worn guitar case, and he maintained an easy, good natured grin as he addressed Ludwig, all the while ignoring the boys shouts and curses as he attempted to break free.

“Ah, what seems to be the problem today, officer?” he asked calmly, Spanish accent causing the words to drop lazily from his mouth like molasses. Smile never wavering, he used his free hand to help Ludwig to his feet. “Is Little Lovi here getting into trouble again? He can have quite the wild temper, no?”

“Don’t call me that, you dumb bastard!” Lovi griped, although he seemed to be losing energy, and had all be stopped attempting to free himself. In response, the man only chuckled deeply, and the young delinquent’s face turned an impressive shade of tomato-red.

Ludwig made a small hmmph sound in the back of his throat as he attempted to brush some of the dirt from his fall off of his uniform. “Actually,” he began gruffly, “This boy was caught engaging in acts of vandalism.”

The man gasped in surprise; Ludwig found it difficult to tell whether it was sincere or not. “No!” he exclaimed, “There must have been a mistake, yes? That doesn’t sound anything like our Lovino….”

The boy rolled his eyes.

“…And you saw Lovino do this terrible thing, officer?” the man asked innocently.

Ludwig stumbled a moment, “Well…not exactly, no.”

The man made a small hmm sound from the back of his throat, and suddenly Ludwig felt the need to defend his actions.

“But he was carrying several cans of spray paint with him, and walking at an abnormally hurried pace.” He explained, “He ran into me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have taken any notice of him.”

The Italian boy, Lovino, bristled. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t stopped right in the middle of the fucking _sidewalk_ ….”

But the Spanish man, to the surprise of both of them, cut Lovino off with a burst of lighthearted laughter. “Oh, silly Lovino!” he exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell him?” Lovino said nothing, opting only to stare at the older man with poorly hidden suspicion. The man then moved his attention back to Ludwig. “This has really all been a funny misunderstanding. You see, Lovino and his brother, Feliciano-he’s the one you just tripped over-are participating in an art exhibition tonight. Lovi here was just bringing over some supplies, you see?”

Ludwig was unimpressed by the story. “Hm,” he said flatly, “Is that so.”

The man laughed that increasingly annoying laugh again. “Of course!” he proclaimed happily, “In fact, we would all love to see you there, wouldn’t we, Lovi?”

“Hmmph.”

“You see? He would love for you to come.”

Ludwig sighed. This was all quickly becoming more effort than it was worth. “If this is true,” he questioned, “Then why did he run away from me?”

Lovino, finally managing to break free from his captor, huffed. “Because you’re really fucking scary, that’s why. You’re like, three times my size. What do you expect to happen when you talk to people with that freaking ugly accent of yours, huh?”

Before Ludwig could respond to this ridiculous statement, the older man clapped his hands together in one swift motion. “Well, there it is then! As you can see, there is no problem here. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I think that little Feli could use some help now, no?”

A high, sweet voice replied from the ground behind Ludwig, and he spun around to face it, suddenly and guiltily reminded of the person he had recently almost killed. “Oh!” it said. To Ludwig, it sounded so strangely musical, like a quiet tinkling of bells, “I’m okay, Antonio. I’m just happy big brother isn’t in trouble!”  
Ludwig glanced down at the boy, Feli, for a moment. He was on the small side, much like his brother, but with a slightly lighter complexion. And, Ludwig noted, feeling his throat go a bit dry, that there was something delicate, almost feminine, about his facial features. He looked at Ludwig with wide, innocent brown eyes, and the serious police officer suddenly felt as if he had been punched in the stomach; all of the air had for some reason been swept from his lungs. He inhaled sharply, attempting to compensate for the sudden lack of oxygen.

After a moment of staring, Ludwig suddenly became aware that he was not moving. Then he wondered exactly why he wasn’t moving…and then he decided to worry about that later. And then, he moved.

Luckily not enough time had passed for any of his present company to notice anything odd, although Feli’s eyes did linger on him for an extra moment as Ludwig bent down to help the smaller man. As he did so, Ludwig realized that the many objects that he had fallen over were, in fact, paintings; it appeared as if Feli had been selling them on the sidewalk when Ludwig had rounded the corner.

“Here,” Ludwig offered, hand shaking a bit as he picked up one of the paintings, “Let me help you with that.”

Feliciano smiled brightly at him, “Thank you!” he said, seeming to harbor no resentment towards the man who had crushed him, nearly destroyed his livelihood, and almost arrested his brother, “I almost have it all fixed now, though.”

Ludwig wasn’t sure if he should say something now. For whatever reason, he had become suddenly very conscious of what he was doing, and was beginning to feel a bit nervous. Stop being ridiculous, he told himself firmly. Instead of speaking, he glanced down at the painting that still rested in his hands. It was of a street in the city, Ludwig was sure of that; strewn across the campus were people and headlights and streetlights and concrete. But the artistry was somewhat impressionistic, and seemed to evoke feelings of an alternate city- one with more warmth, more light, and more gentleness.

“It’s beautiful,” Ludwig found himself saying aloud. Feliciano’s eyes lit up.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Wow! Thank you so much!” He laughed, clapping his hands rapidly like a child, and Ludwig wondered what it was with these people and laughing when no one had told a joke. “Are you really coming to the exhibition?” he asked, and when Ludwig looked uncertain, said, “You should! It will be so much fun. All of our friends are coming, right Lovino?”

Lovino responded by continuing to glare murderously at his brother from above.

“Well….” Ludwig began pensively, assessing the situation, “I really should, ah, make sure that your brother isn’t lying about this.” For police work, he assured himself.

Feliciano clapped again, saying, “Yay! It’s at nine o’clock tonight, at that building down the street, see?”

Ludwig clarified that he did in fact see the building in question, and that he did know how to get there. After that, he explained that he really needed to get back to police work and, after apologizing to Feliciano one last time, and sending a pointed threatening glare towards his brother, said goodbye to the three of them. He walked quickly, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the three other men as he could without wandering beyond his territory, all the while wondering just what the hell had come over him during those last few moments.

Meanwhile, Feliciano remained on the sidewalk, and smiled after the police officer. “He seems nice,” he said to Antonio and Lovino.

Antonio chuckled, “Looks like Feli has made a new friend, no?”

Lovino stared between the two in disbelief. “Friend?” he asked incredulously, “He tried to arrest me!”

“Yes,” Antonio agreed, his words taking on a more serious tone, “And if it hadn’t been for me, he would have. How many times do I have to ask you to stay out of trouble, Lovi?”

Lovino’s face turned red again, and he mumbled something that may have been an apology. “Hey, how are we going to pretend that I’m supposed to be in that exhibition anyway, genius?” he muttered, face still the color of a ripe tomato.

Antonio rested his hands on his hips. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something,” he said optimistically. Feliciano nodded his head in agreement.

Lovino groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“We’re all fucked.”

                                                                                                                                ~

It was a quarter past nine when Alfred and Arthur arrived at the studio. Arthur had wanted to leave earlier, as he was the kind of person to arrive on time for almost everything, but Alfred had (somewhat predictably) ruined his plans by taking an unintended nap on the floor of the apartment halfway through his ninth re-watch of Captain America, and then insisting that they stop and get food before going to the exhibition. But, after many shouts of “Well not all of us get to sleep until two in the morning you cranky, lazy old man,” and, “This is ridiculous get out of my apartment I don’t know why I took you in anyway”, the two had somehow managed to extract themselves from their apartment and arrive at a reasonable time.

When they stepped into the room, which was modestly sized, with brick walls, a wooden floor, and dim lighting with the exception of the small lights trained on the art pieces, they were immediately waved over to the corner where their small group of friends had already congregated. As the two approached them, they realized that they were all discussing a single painting that rested on a wooden stand in the corner.

“It’s really pretty good, Lovino,” Antonio was saying.

“Yeah, well…I’m sort of used to doing art fast. Not like it matters…the bastard didn’t even show up.”

“What’s this?” Arthur asked curiously as he peered over everyone’s shoulders to get a better look at the painting- a colorful, graffiti-style caricature of a woman’s face, “I didn’t think you were going to be submitting anything, Lovino.”

“Neither did he,” said Antonio, chuckling.

Alfred looked at the painting for a moment, already starting to get bored with this whole thing. He liked art, really, he just found it to be generally lacking in things he enjoyed, like…rocket ships. And explosions. And other things that he understood.

“Hey, Kiku,” he said suddenly, hoping that his best bro could help to entertain him, “Where’s that one of me that you took a while ago?”

Kiku smiled lightly at him. The man was a slight, soft spoken photographer, who still had his bulky, old-fashioned camera around his neck even though he was showing his pictures, not taking them. While his reserved nature meant that he didn’t usually form strong bonds with other people, he and Alfred had developed a fast friendship after being introduced through Feliciano, who he himself had known through (Alfred assumed) mutual artsy hangouts. The friendship was based primarily on a shared love of videogames, specifically of the Japanese variety that Kiku made a living by smuggling to the U.S. before their release dates, and selling for ridiculously inflated prices on the black market.

“My pictures are over here,” he said, leading the group to his display. He pointed at one photo in particular; a black and white of Alfred sitting on a less busy sidewalk, wearing a hoodie, and staring out onto the street in front of him. Upon seeing it, Alfred perked up with excitement.

“That’s me!” He exclaimed happily, “Wow. I’m like, famous now.”

Kiku let go of another tiny smile. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. But thank you.”

“They’re all really beautiful, Kiku!” their friend Laura, a sculptor with green eyes, freckles and shoulder-length blond hair, complimented. Arthur and Feliciano expressed their agreement. Kiku seemed pleased, if not bit embarrassed by the attention.

Before anyone could say anything else, Lovino groaned loudly. “Great,” he muttered, “ _He’s_ here.”

At his words, everyone looked in the direction of the door, just as a man was closing it behind himself. He had slick blond hair and impressive muscles, but he was wearing an expression that would have been more appropriate on the face of a twelve-year-old trying to find a place to sit in the cafeteria on the first day of school. He crept into the room slowly, looking as though he would rather not be noticed. Any chance he had of that, however, was crushed as Feliciano called to him from across the room.

“Ludwig!” he chirped, waving at the man frantically, “We’re over here! Ludwig!”

“Who’s that?” Alfred asked.

“That’s Ludwig!” Feliciano answered helpfully.

Arthur smirked, “Oh, is he? I would never have guessed.”

Lovino’s face was even more sour than usual as he explained, “That’s the jerk who tried to arrest me today. I told him my spray paint was for the exhibition.”

“Yes,” Antonio agreed, “And I think Feliciano has taken quite a liking to him.”

Lovino huffed, “He takes a liking to everyone.”

“I do!” Feliciano beamed.

Meanwhile, the man had been walking towards them, wearing the expression of someone who was currently regretting every decision he had ever made.

“Hi Ludwig!” Feliciano said with a smaller, though still very enthusiastic, wave, “I’m so glad you could come!”

“Ah, yes…hello.” The man looked incredibly uncomfortable. To his credit, everyone was staring at him, as if waiting for him to speak.

However, it was Lovino who broke the silence. “See, bastard?” he said, pointing aggressively to his painting in the corner, “I told you I wasn’t lying.”

Ludwig squinted at the painting suspiciously for a moment, and then sighed in resignation. “I suppose not. I apologize.”

“Yeah, that’s right, you’d better apolig- hey!” Lovino was cut off as Antonio swiftly stepped on his foot, giving him a look that clearly said, “Don’t push it.”

After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, Ludwig spoke again, “Well, I guess I should be going now….”

Feliciano looked heartbroken. “But,” he squeaked, eyes somehow enlarging significantly on his small face, “You just got here! And you have to meet everyone first!”

Ludwig looked down at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Feliciano smiled like Ludwig had just given him the best present he’d ever received. “Well, you already met Lovino and Antonio,” he started, “So that leaves…um…where did Kiku go?” Kiku had, in fact, fled as soon as he had realized that a cop had entered the room. Feli continued to introduce him anyway, undeterred, “Well, Kiku’s a photographer. He’s really nice. He took that picture of me!”

Feli pointed; Ludwig stared.

“Are you…wearing a dress in that picture?”

“Yes! Dresses are really fun.”

Ludwig blushed furiously.

Feliciano appeared not to notice, and continued, “And this is Laura. She’s a sculptor, and she makes really nice pastries!”

“Thanks, Feli!”

“Um, nice to meet you,” Ludwig muttered, wishing he was at home with a book and some tube-shaped meat.

Feliciano then pointed to a tall, bespectacled blond boy, who appeared to be the youngest of the group, “This is Alfred. Arthur found him!”

“Found…? Ah, wonderful. The boy from the Bryan Park Statue Incident.”

Alfred visibly paled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Aw, shit. You’re _that_ cop?”

Feli giggled. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me that story, Alfred.”

“It was a while ago,” Alfred mumbled, still looking ashamed, but also a little confused, “And it was in The Bronx. So why…?”

“I was moved,” Ludwig explained, face devoid of any expression, “And I have a very good memory.” He looked back at Feliciano. “Do you perhaps have any friends who aren’t criminals?” he asked, exasperated.

The other man seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Um…I don’t think Arthur is,” he decided at last. Ludwig rubbed his temples.

Arthur, however, looked quite proud. “Yup,” he declared, “Clean as a whistle.”

Alfred barked a laugh.

“Excuse me, Alfred, is there something you find funny about that?”

“Well I wouldn’t exactly say you were ‘clean as a whistle’, Arthur.”

“And why not? I’ll have you know I do honest work.”

Alfred snorted, and Arthur looked as if he might backhand him. Ludwig, however, looked lost.

“Arthur’s a stripper!” Feli clarified helpfully.

Arthur sighed wearily, “Thank you, Feliciano.”

“You’re welcome!”

Ludwig looked around him, noting with immense relief that Feliciano had introduced him to all of his friends. Before he could begin to say goodbye, however, Feli grabbed his arm and began pulling him to the other side of the room. “Here, I’ll show you my paintings!” he said excitedly.  
Ludwig realized that it was going to be a very, very long night.

                                                                                                                                    ~  
In reality, the evening proved quite pleasant for everyone. Even though not that many people beyond their small circle of friends and the friends of other artists involved stopped by the exhibit, this was hardly out of the ordinary for the struggling artists, and they all just had a good time talking and laughing and looking through all of the pieces. Even Ludwig, who had always found himself rather baffled by artistic pursuits, felt that he had gained something from the experience. Every so often he would see something so abstract (and occasionally disturbing) that it would leave him simply staring in blank confusion, and Alfred would appear behind him, saying “Yeah. I don’t really get it either.” But at those times, Feliciano, who was intent on not leaving Ludwig’s side, lest he attempt escape, would say something like, “It’s not really about thinking. It’s more about a feeling, you know?” that would be at the same time both so vague and so simple that it would leave Ludwig feeling strangely idiotic.

“My brother is an art curator,” he found himself saying at one point that night, “But he has never explained these things to me in this way before.”

“Oh, wow, he is?” Feliciano, seeming to miss the compliment entirely, had gushed, “That’s so cool! I would love to meet him.”

After a couple of hours had passed, and it seemed as if the small room was beginning to clear out entirely, they all began making plans for where to go next, and Ludwig, panicking, began to think of ways to disentangle himself from the uncomfortable social situation. He protested, but for some reason he felt himself being pulled in, both by the idea of getting his hands on some alcohol, and of the thought of his brother’s nagging voice telling him that he should go out and socialize more often (and definitely not because of Feliciano’s ridiculous puppy eyes). And so he gave in, wondering how he had landed himself in this bizarre situation, going out for drinks with people he barely knew and who he had virtually nothing in common with.

“We could go to the club….” The sculptor, Laura, suggested first. Arthur groaned.

“Definitely not. It’s my night off, for Christ’s sake.”

“And besides,” Lovino said, grinning wickedly, “She only wants to go so she can see Michelle, anyway.”

The poor girl’s face tinted pink. “I don’t…” she mumbled, rubbing her left arm nervously, “I mean, it’s not….”

“Oh, of course,” Arthur huffed, “Everybody wants to see Michelle, as usual.”

“Aw, don’t worry man,” Alfred consoled, giving him a swift pat on the back in that ludicrously heterosexual way that he had so skillfully perfected, “You’re really good too, and stuff.”

“You’re just saying that because I put a roof over your head.”

“Well….”

“And it doesn’t matter what you say anyway,” Arthur continued, “Because you’re underage. You can’t come with us.”

Alfred groaned dramatically. “Aw, come on!” he whined, “That’s so unfair, I mean I have a…” But just then Alfred was reminded of Ludwig’s presence by his piercing glare and slightly raised eyebrow, and redirected his sentence so fast it was like he was turning a car around to avoid a tsunami. “…A job to do tomorrow morning, unlike some people,” he finished, crossing his arms grumpily, “I wouldn’t want to go anyway.”

Lovino snickered, “Ha! Hey guys, Alfred can’t go to a bar with us because he’s a _baby_.”

Arthur smirked, “Yup. Just a little baby….”

Alfred’s eye narrowed. “Guys, please,” he protested, “Not this again.”

Antonio stepped closer to pinch Alfred’s cheek, cooing “Aw, what a cute little baby!”

“You know I hate it when you do this….”

“Haha, poor baby Alfred!”

“Would you like some milk, widdle baby Alfred?”

“Do you need someone to walk you home?”

“Stop it!” Alfred yelled, pouting. He knew that, if he didn’t put a stop to this now, they could go on for hours. It had happened before. “I’m not a baby! I’m going to be nineteen in like, three days. Geez.”

Arthur frowned. “It it really that soon already?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Today’s the first. And that means you all have to be nice to me!”

Ludwig’s brow furrowed curiously, doing the math in his head as he asked, “Your birthday is on the Fourth of July?”

“Um, well, not really. But it’s sometime at the beginning of July, so we always just celebrate it then.”

“How…patriotic of you.” Ludwig was becoming increasingly concerned about this (apparently eighteen-year-old) boy’s situation. Why didn’t he know his own birthday?

But Alfred, meanwhile, had brightened considerably at the mention of the approaching festivities. “Yeah!” he said excitedly, “It’s awesome. We always have a big party on the roof, and it’s like they set off all those crazy fireworks just for me!”

“I see.”

“Well, birthday or not, you’re still nowhere near twenty-one,” Arthur said, bringing the conversation back to its original purpose, “Now, if we were living in a sensible country, you could do whatever you wanted. But, as it is, you’ll have to go home.”

Alfred rolled his eyes at the way Arthur said “sensible country”. “Fine, whatever,” he mumbled, “But if you drink too much and call me at two a.m., I’m not coming to carry you home. And, also, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m not a child, Alfred. I know how to handle my liquor.”

And, at that (much to Arthur’s dismay) Alfred was not the only one of them who burst into a fit of laughter.

                                                                                                                                                 ~

They ended up in a pretty generic bar (to Ludwig’s enormous relief; he had become a bit skittish at the mention of strip clubs, as that was a road down which he never again wanted to travel). Like many places in America, it was new and clean-looking; all chrome countertops, with multicolored neon lighting behind the bar. Ludwig found, also like many other places in the young country, that it lacked a certain atmospheric charm, but this did not bother him too terribly as he settled at his stool with a beer as the group he had arrived with looked for an empty table. Just when he was getting comfortable with the idea of losing them, and sitting at the bar by himself, his brief moment of privacy was shattered as Feliciano appeared at his side.

“You should come and sit with us, Ludwig,” he said, still smiling, and apparently bursting with energy, “There’s room at our table.”

Ludwig cursed his luck today and, realizing that it would probably be rude to turn down the younger man’s offer, allowed himself to be led over to the crowded wooden table, where some sort of commotion had already broken out among the strange group of friends.

“I’m telling you, Arthur,” Antonio was saying, his tone as persuasive and as falsely disinterested as a salesman’s, “He’s looking right at you. You should definitely go over there.”

Arthur just shook his head, “You’re completely delusional.”

“Aw, come on, old friend. You have to admit it’s been ages since you’ve been with anyone. We’re all worried about you.”

“I’m not worried,” Lovino pointed out, taking a long drink from his glass as Ludwig and Feliciano were finding their seats.

Antonio ignored him, decidedly maintaining his focus on attempting to get Arthur to flirt. “Not to mention the fact that your sexual frustration is making you even more of a grouch than usual, eh? You’re spreading your misery to all of us.”

Arthur glared, but it was half-hearted, like he had long since resigned himself to this form of torture. In the end, he took his real revenge by not even glancing at the bar for any purpose other than to collect a continuous stream of refills from the bartender, which ultimately lead to him becoming increasingly agitated as the night wore on. Eventually, after several moments of unreasonably emotional ranting about Alfred forgetting to put his socks away, he fell asleep, with his face on the table, and drool pooling under his mouth.

“Well,” Antonio, who was pretty intoxicated himself at that point, declared, after glancing at watch that he had imagined on his wrist, “I think that might’ve been a new record for Arthur. Very ipressvvn.”

“What did you say, idiot?” Lovino asked, smirking, bad temper, if not entirely dissipated, then at least mildly suppressed by the alcohol.

“I said it’s really impresamiven.”

Laura laughed, “Oh, boy. I guess I’m gonna be the one who carries Arthur home tonight.”

But while the majority of the party had been teasing Arthur, and enjoying the spectacle which he had provided, Ludwig found himself separated from them, chair pulled to the corner of the table with Feliciano. Neither had noticed what was happening as they were slowly shifting their chairs away from the group, because both had found themselves deeply engrossed in conversation with one another. This was strange and new especially for Ludwig, who usually found himself remarkably disinterested in any form of small talk, and who preferred to limit his words to only those which he found necessary. But somehow, when Feliciano spoke, even about the mundane, scripted things that characterized conversations between almost strangers, he made everything appear so exciting and wonderful. Ludwig wondered if this was how Feliciano always saw the world.

They spoke of more than just simple matters, however. At some point, Ludwig, preferring to listen to Feliciano speak than be the speaker himself, had asked Feliciano when he had first come to America. From what he could piece together from Feli’s undoubtedly sugarcoated version of things, he and his brother had come to the U.S. with their grandfather when they were toddlers. He did not mention his parents, and Ludwig didn’t ask him to. Feliciano then explained him and his brother’s relationship with Antonio, telling about how the older boy had lived in the same building as them throughout their childhood, and had quickly assumed the role of surrogate older brother to the two, although it sounded to Ludwig like he spent much more time with Lovino than with his younger brother. He supposed that this was because Lovino was more prone to getting himself in trouble than Feliciano, even when they were children. From what he had seen of the young Italian even in one day, Ludwig could not imagine that he would ever intentionally do something potentially harmful to anyone. He was in all likelyhood as innocent and as non-threatening as he was on the day he was born.

Eventually, Ludwig decided to ask him about the eighteen-year-old who had previously been with them. He didn’t want to pry for fear of upsetting Feliciano, but his police instincts could not ignore the unpleasant suspicion he had felt when they were being introduced.

He didn’t get much out of Feli, though, who seemed reluctant to say much on the subject. “Alfred started living with Arthur a few years ago,” he said, suddenly looking as if he was afraid to say the wrong thing, “He was so little! He’s gotten much bigger though. Even bigger than me!”

“And is Arthur a…relative of his?”

Feliciano considered this for a moment. “Um…no, that wouldn’t make sense. Because Arthur is from England, and Alfred is from here.”

“Of course. So why is Alfred-

“I’ve never been to England. Have you ever been to England, Ludwig? I hear it’s very rainy all the time.”

Ludwig took that as a signal to drop the subject, although he still felt uneasy, even more so after what little information Feli had given him. If what he had said was true, then Alfred couldn’t have been any older than sixteen when he began living with Arthur, who was apparently not a family member of his, or, he assumed, any sort of legal guardian. Why had Alfred begun living with a strange man when he was sixteen years old? Particularly a man who was currently passed out in a pool of his own alcohol-infused saliva?

The whole story did more than just make him fear for Alfred’s sake, however. It was like an alarm clock going off in Ludwig’s mind, waking him up from the strange dream that he had been living ever since he had been smashed into by Lovino earlier that day. He felt apprehension course through him as he realized what should have been obvious; that he didn’t know these people, that he could have been spending his night with felons and, although they didn’t seem particularly dangerous, that they were people who could potentially get him in serious trouble. People who he could get into serious trouble.

So, after telling Feliciano a few stories about when he had gone to England before moving to New York (stories that made Feliciano laugh a tinkling laugh that made Ludwig’s heart ache to think of not being able to hear it in the future), he told Feliciano that he had to work tomorrow, and so he really should be getting to bed. Feliciano insisted on walking him to his apartment building, which was not far. Ludwig couldn’t help but accept.

When they arrived at the main entrance to the building, Feliciano didn’t leave. Instead, he pulled something out of his pocket.

“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked sweetly.

Ludwig’s mind stopped. When it started again, it went into overdrive, along with his heart, which had begun pumping madly, and his lungs, which suddenly could not receive enough oxygen from the air around him. Suddenly, here, outside of his apartment, with Feli’s big brown eyes gazing up at him through the dark, the nature of his night seemed very different….

But that was a ridiculous thought. They had gotten along very well, for being complete strangers. Why wouldn’t he want to contact him later on? But then, the image of Feli in a photograph, smiling just like he was now, only clad completely in women’s clothes, filled his mind, and he struggled not to blush just as he had upon first seeing it. What was happening to him?

“Look,” he said abruptly, struggling to meet those innocent eyes, “I…had a very good time tonight, and I’m not exactly sure what’s happening, but I do know that we…it’s just that, our lives, they’re very different. I just don’t think that….” He trailed off miserably. How could he explain this without hurting the younger man’s feelings?

But Feliciano seemed to have stopped listening to him. Instead, he was looking dreamily across the street where people were still bustling about on the sidewalk, despite the late hour. Against a building, there was a man sleeping, clothes tattered, a single blanket underneath him. A dog barked somewhere nearby. The lights of the city were reflected in Feliciano’s eyes.

“Antonio’s sick, you know.” Feli’s eyes never moves from the homeless man across the street.

“I’m sorry?”

“He got sick a few years ago. Someone made him sick; I think that’s part of why Lovi’s so angry all the time. Toni’s okay if he takes his medicine, but….”

Ludwig thought he understood. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

“Because,” Feliciano finally tore his eyes away from the street, and instead trained them on Ludwig’s hopelessly lost face, “It’s just that I think that, if you want to do something, then you should do it. Because you never know if something’s going to happen.”

And, before Ludwig could say anything, before he could even begin to form any sentences in his mind, or think about what had been said to him, Feliciano went up on his toes, and kissed him, quickly, on the mouth.

“Here,” he said, and Ludwig realized that he had slipped his phone out of his pocket when he had….

He pressed a few buttons, the light from the screen lighting up his smiling face, before handing the phone back to a completely unresponsive and dumbstruck Ludwig. Then he giggled, wished Ludwig a good night, and left.

And Ludwig was left standing on the sidewalk, staring after him with the echoes of Feli’s words even more than the feeling of his lips still lingering in his mind.

                                                                                                                                   ~

On the morning of July 1st, Matthew Bonnefoy awoke excitedly in his father’s house in Ottowa. He shot up in his bed, looking at the blanketed expanse surrounding him as disappointment began to settle in his stomach. It was his birthday; his nineteenth, specifically, and he had expected his father to carry out a long-standing tradition of placing all of Matthew’s gifts on his bed while he slept, mostly in the cruel hope that he would wake up and scatter them around his room upon waking.One year, when Matt was turning thirteen, his dad had gone so far as to place one of the packages directly on his son’s face, almost giving him a heart attack when morning came around, and causing him to sulk for nearly half the day (he had been thirteen, after all).

But this morning, Matthew sighed as he looked at his empty bed, supposing that he had finally outgrown the childish tradition; he had, after all, completed his first year of college only a few months earlier.

He realized upon closer inspection, however, that there was something on his bed- a standard sized, red envelope with his name written in his father’s neat but impractically elaborate cursive on the back.  
Curious, Matthew picked up the envelope, and carefully ran a finger underneath the seal to open it. There was no card inside, like he had expected. Instead, there was simply a folded piece of standard computer paper, which Matthew unfolded. He frowned in confusion as he read the words at the top- it seemed that his father had decided to give him a printed out list of employees at a McDonald’s in Manhattan’s Lower East Side. Thinking there must be some strange joke being played at his expense, Matthew cautiously began to read through the short list of names.

**Michel, Joseph Roger, age 34**

**Duarte, Rosalina Adela, age 21**

**Jones, Alfred Franklin, age 18**

Matthew stopped reading, less than halfway through the list, and stared at the third name. He felt as if shock had turned his lungs into two identical vacuums. He read the name again.

_Jones, Alfred Franklin, age 18._

He had heard people in novels and on television talk about not being able to believe what they were looking at, and now he thought he understood the feeling. It was as if his mind had decided to detach from the world around it, leaving him lost. He picked up the red envelope, which was not yet entirely empty, and shook it.

Onto his bed fell two identical tickets. He picked them up, and read one of them- it was a train ticket into New York City, departing tomorrow night.

Throwing his covers aside, he grabbed the tickets and bounded outside of his bedroom, like he used to do so many years ago on snowy Christmas mornings. He found his father in the kitchen, preparing a traditional stack of Birthday Pancakes. The man jumped in shock when Matthew threw his arms around him from behind, struggling to speak words of gratitude through the choked feeling in his throat.

“Papa, merci, c’est le meilleur cadeau…je ne sais pas quoi dire. Merci beaucoup !”

His dad laughed, spinning to face his son and hug him properly. “Bon anniversaire, mon petite fils. And what did I tell you about speaking English, now that we live in Ontario?”

Matthew still seemed at a loss for words; whether the words were English or French held no consequence. Francis Bonnefoy felt the excitement and disbelief radiating from his son, and decided to bring a bit of reality back to the situation.

“Now, Matthew,” he said, allowing a bit of sternness into his tone, “I don’t want you to get your hopes up too high. We only have his first name and middle name, and his age. There is no guarantee that this is your brother.”

“I know, Papa. But still…it must have taken you so long.”

Francis smiled, “It has taken me thirteen years, Matthew. It has been too long that my mistake has hurt you. You have no reason to thank me for this.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

His father didn’t respond to that, only continued to smile as he said, “Well, I suppose we should begin packing, then!”

Matthew beamed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, a hope that he had not felt in years beginning to well up inside him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This chapter's a little bit longer than the first one, and I feel like I've been writing it for years, but it's finally up! Unfortunately, there are a lot of things in this chapter that were supposed to be italicized but aren't because I don't know what I'm doing, so I'm really sorry if that makes certain sentences seem a little awkward.
> 
> To the people who left comments/kudos on the last chapter: Um, oh my god!? You are all so nice and beautiful and your wonderful comments helped keep me going so much, and made me so happy! Thanks so much to all of you, and I really hope you enjoy chapter 2!

Once his legs had carried him to the door of the ridiculously ordinary looking McDonald’s, at the corner of East 6th Street and First Avenue, just like the piece of paper clenched in his sweating fist instructed, Francis Bonnefoy felt himself hesitate. He glanced up at the insignia; just as looming and obnoxiously yellow as it was in probably every other populated corner of the planet. There were McDonalds’ everywhere, so much so that it seemed almost as if they were following Francis throughout his life, wherever he went- there were McDonalds’ in France, in Quebec, in Ontario, in absolutely every country that he had ever visited on a business trip- always altered in whatever way necessary to somewhat awkwardly conform to its host country, but always managing to remain glaringly American, like trying to cover a bonfire with a blanket. Looking at the sign in any other country than America, Francis thought that he might have known what people living in British colonies had felt upon looking at the many union jacks spread across their homelands. They were an ever-present sign of global, American occupation.

Francis had never imagined, however, that something as commonplace as a McDonald’s would hold such significance in his life. But, here he was, nervous, terrified, standing outside of the cursed establishment at six in the goddamn morning, while his Matthew still slept away in their hotel room to make up for a night of travel, in hope and in ignorance, and all because Francis was a horrible coward. Because, after all these years of guilt, he simply could not risk seeing the look of disappointment on his beloved son’s face if it turned out that he had failed yet again. And so, he had decided to assess the situation beforehand, on his own.

Alfred Franklin. The name fluttered around in Francis’s mind, taunting him, just as it had taunted him for the past thirteen years. As it had almost every day since he and Marianne had all but dragged a screaming, crying Matthew away from that horrible place, and oh, how could they not have known, how could they not have realized that something was so, incredibly wrong? Surely, had they known Matthew, if they had had more time to understand him as Francis does now- surely, they would have known immediately. Because, since that day, Francis had never once heard the quiet boy scream.

Francis felt cold and sick at the vivid memory, the familiar guilt attempting to crush him once again. He had never known Alfred Franklin, had never even laid eyes on him, and yet his existence had had more of an impact on Francis’s life than almost all of the people he had ever met in person put together. To Francis, Alfred was a phantom, not made of flesh and bone but of rage and fear and sadness and regret. The idea that he might now become real was somehow strangely terrifying to the Frenchman. 

All of this was filling his mind as he forced himself into the threatening establishment, hardly knowing what to think, or what to hope for.  
It was crowded, to Francis’s slight annoyance. He supposed that many people were in a hurry to grab their morning jolt before work, but waiting in the long line proved absolute torture for his already fraying nerves. He wrung his hands as he impatiently waited his turn, ears deaf to the sounds of people shouting orders in English and Spanish, nose deaf to the smell of coffee and breakfast and morning.

There was a young woman working at the counter when Francis was finally able to reach it. “Can I help you, sir?” she asked efficiently, her English accented but entirely understandable. 

Francis wondered how he should handle this. “Actually,” he said, attempting to use some of his natural charm to not seem like he was wasting everyone’s time, “I was just wondering if there was an Alfred Jones working here today?”

He had expected the girl to act as least marginally suspicious at the request, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Alfred!” she called over her shoulder, waving Francis to the side so that she could help the next customer, “Get out here!”

“Why?!” A voice answered from the kitchen. Francis swallowed. While he had hoped to gain some information on the mysterious entity that was Alfred Franklin Jones by visiting his workplace, he had not been entirely prepared to see him, in the flesh, so soon.

“Some blond guy with an accent’s asking for you!” The girl shouted.

A loud groan, as if Alfred had been expecting this very answer. “Tell him to go away!”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Just give me one moment,” she told Francis, before walking towards the source of the voice. Francis strained his ears to hear what was happening over the din.

“Stop being difficult. He’s holding everyone up. And how many times have I told you not to steal from the french-fries?”

“Aw, but Rosa….”

“Go. Now.”

The girl reappeared. 

And so did Alfred.

“Jesus Arthur, I’m working, what d’you…oh. You’re not Arthur.”

Francis couldn’t respond to this statement, or even wonder what it was referring to. He was too busy staring in astonishment at the boy in front of him. The same blue eyes covered by slightly rounder glasses, slightly shorter dirty blond hair that poked out over the rim of his McDonald’s visor, a bit more well-muscled than Matthew. But…it was almost exactly as if he were looking at his son. 

Alfred, meanwhile, was beginning to feel uneasy about the complete stranger who had asked for him by name, and who was now staring at him like he was the most remarkable (or terrible) thing that he had ever seen. “So, um,” he asked awkwardly, “Is there, like, something I can help you with?”

Francis fought the dryness in his throat. “You are Alfred Jones.” It wasn’t a question.

“Uh, yup! That’s me!” Alfred smiled a bit, confusion and slight suspicion obvious in his expressions.

“Well, I was…I was actually hoping that we could have a word in private, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Alfred’s face became suddenly serious as an idea rose in his mind, and he leaned in close to Francis in a poor attempt at discretion. “Look, dude, I don’t, you know, turn tricks, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

Francis took a second to digest this, and then flung himself backwards in complete horror. “What? Mon Dieu, of course I wasn’t -I would never… How could you…do I look like I would ever need to….” But Alfred just continued to watch him evenly, so he attempted to gather his thoughts after the insulting suggestion. He cleared his throat. “My name is Francis Bonnefoy,” he said, trying to clear his name as quickly and efficiently as possible, “And I am Matthew Bonnef-well, that is to say, Matthew Williams’ adoptive father.” 

Silence. 

Alfred gaped at him, lips parted, barely blinking. While he had been taking the encounter lightly, like an idle chat with a stranger on a bus, he now wore an expression that would have been appropriate on someone who was watching their house burn down, or seeing their newborn child for the first time- completely blank, if only because there was no appropriate facial expression for moments of such untellable significance. Francis felt it, too, and the importance of the moment hung between them, the grease-scented air around them buzzing, saturated with the energy of life-changing moments. In that instant, understanding passed between the two strangers, as they both allowed themselves to sink into the intoxicating feeling of their own histories changing. Francis wondered why he had been nervous stepping into this building. Alfred wondered how he could ever have imagined upon waking that this day would be a normal one.

The moment was brief. After its passing, Alfred looked around himself, as if making sure that no spies where waiting to catch moments of their conversation.

“Gimme a second.” Alfred dashed back into the kitchen. To Francis’s utter amazement, he returned a brief moment later with a handful of “French-fries”. Then he jogged to the end of the counter, eating as he went.

“Alfred, just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His coworker asked impatiently, but he was already on the other side, standing next to Francis.

“Just a minute, Rosa! It’s really really important. I promise!” She glared at him, but said nothing save for a bit of mumbling under her breath.

“Here,” Alfred said to Francis, directing him to the nearest empty booth, still munching on fried potatoes. They sat down on opposite sides of the table, Alfred staring at Francis with wide blue eyes. “So,” he started uncertainly, still wearing that lost ‘My house is on fire’ face, “You’re…I mean….”

“Your brother’s father. Yes.”

Alfred glanced down at the table, suddenly taking on a much more serious and hardened persona than what had been Francis’ first impression of the boy. Francis thought to himself that he looked even more like Matthew, now, when he had still been a shy and suspicious child who hid behind his mother’s leg in the midst of strangers. When he spoke, his voice was level, but with emotion broiling underneath, as if he were attempting to distance himself from it.

“Why should I believe you?”

Francis was prepared for this. Without saying a word, he reached into his front pocket (he almost always wore a suit; he always wanted to look good, practical or not) and pulled out a black leather wallet, which he then slid gently across the table to Alfred.

Alfred took it and, after a subtle nod from Francis, unfolded it, and stared with growing emotion at its contents. Francis smiled, knowing what Alfred was seeing; it was filled with half a dozen photographs, from corny, posed family photos from when Matthew was still young and round and wide-eyed, to his first hockey match, to his senior high school portrait. 

Alfred swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. It took him a moment to find his voice and, when he did speak, it was as if the words were being torn unwillingly from his throat.

“Oh my god. It’s….” He glanced, bewildered, up from the wallet, to gaze at Francis with wide, bright eyes. Francis noticed that the hand in which the boy held the wallet was shaking, and smiled kindly at Alfred, suddenly glad that he had chosen to give the poor boy a bit of warning before Matthew suddenly reappeared in his life. Francis took his wallet back gently, as Alfred continued to stammer hopelessly.

“I didn’t even…I mean, I thought that….” Alfred closed his eyes briefly, and, taking a deep breath, attempted to arrange his thoughts in his head, feeling suddenly that it was very important that he express them correctly to the man seated across from him. When he opened them and began to speak, both his eyes and his words caused Francis to choke inwardly with fear and pain, as if they were knives that Alfred was holding against his throat. He felt the smile fade slowly from his face as Alfred spoke, and he came face to face with his worst fears. “You took him. I was so young, and he just disappeared; I thought he was dead for years. But…you took him.”

Francis attempted to swallow, if only to give himself some time to think of a proper response (if there was one) to Alfred’s realization, but his mouth was far too dry to force the muscles into motion. When he did speak, his voice was rasping, and he decided to go with the most honest thing that he could say.

“I am very sorry.”

Alfred continued to stare, but he didn’t appear to be regarding Francis with any anger. Rather, it was if he was searching for something; like he was lost in the woods, and the only map of how to find his way home was written somewhere on Francis’s face. Unnerved by his gaze, Francis made a desperate attempt to rescue himself.

“I had no idea. They did not tell me that you even existed.”

Alfred looked down at the photographs once more, still in a state of shock.

“And you…took care of him?”

Francis let out a hot puff of air, and felt his smile return slightly. “Yes,” he assured Alfred gently, “Of course. It took a while, but he warmed up to us eventually. He is doing very well. He is in university now, studying to be a teacher.” Francis wondered if Alfred could hear the pride in his voice as he spoke of his only son.

Alfred continued to examine the photographs, trying to figure out what questions to ask. Eventually, he leaned in towards Francis, pointing to one of the older photographs at a dark-haired woman who was holding a smiling young Matthew on her lap. “Is this your wife?” he asked. Francis nodded. Alfred was gaining a kind of strange emotional momentum as he continued to ask questions, the beginnings of snowballing enthusiasm glinting in his eyes.

“Is she here, too? Can I meet her?” he looked around the restaurant, as if he would find her hiding in one of the booths, waiting to jump out and surprise him. 

Francis’s smile never wavered.

“Unfortunately, Marianne passed away several years ago.”

“Oh. Sorry.” 

“It is not a problem. You may ask whatever questions you need to.”

Alfred stilled, and Francis imagined he could feel the energy and emotion radiating from him in a continuous hum. “When can I see him?”

“Very soon. He is asleep in our hotel, at the moment. But I am sure he will be just as eager to meet you.”

“I’m not meeting him. He’s my brother.”

“Of course.”

Instead of continuing the conversation, Alfred suddenly grabbed the pen that had been resting in the front pocket of his horrendous brown and yellow uniform, and then a napkin from the little kiosk in the middle of the table. He quickly scrawled something down on the napkin, before handing it over to Francis.

“That’s my address. My shift ends at twelve. If I’m not back yet when you get there, Arthur will buzz you in.”

Francis examined the paper in his hands. “You have your own apartment? That must be very expensive for a college student.”

Alfred blinked a few times, like someone had just slapped him unexpectedly. In his mind, a very dangerous and panic-induced set of thoughts was occurring, the thoughts that Arthur and everyone else who was close to Alfred had become quite familiar with- namely, the ones that were always making Alfred say incredibly, remarkably stupid things. It was these thoughts which prompted him to speak his next, fateful sentence.

“Uh…yeah.” 

Francis raised an eyebrow, wondering if Alfred was going to continue.

“I mean, Arthur and I, we both work a lot, and the apartment’s kind of crappy. It’s like, above this old furniture store that’s open all night and smells really funny, and there’s not even any A.C., and the plumbing’s weird so only one of us can shower a day or the pipes make all these scary noises that I always think are ghosts, so-

“Yes, of course. And I imagine your parents help out a little, as well.” Francis deliberately hesitated on the word “parents”, trying to avoid being insensitive, but also making an effort to retrieve as much information as possible about Alfred’s situation. 

“My…oh. Yeah, sure they do.” Even as Alfred mentally berated himself, thinking regretfully about the enormous grave which he was currently digging for himself in the future, he could not stop the words from falling from his mouth. Francis, however, sighed in relief.

“Well I, um,” Alfred continued, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire for this conversation to be very much over, “I should probably get back to work now. You know, the burgers, they need to be…flipped.”

“Of course,” Francis held out a slender hand to Alfred, still smiling his best non-threatening smile to try and make Alfred feel comfortable, “May I have my wallet back now?”

“Oh!” Alfred rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Right, sure.” But then he hesitated. “Um, do you think I could hold on to one of these pictures?” he asked impulsively.

To Alfred’s embarrassment, Francis sounded a bit choked when he answered. “Yes, yes. Take whatever you like-I have copies.”

Alfred scanned the photos a second time and quickly made his selection. It was one of the few from when Mattie was still really little, still almost exactly as Alfred remembered him. There was no one else in the picture save for a stuffed polar bear, which appeared much larger than it actually was compared to the young boy’s small form.

Alfred noted, with mixed feelings, that his brother looked remarkably happy in the photo. He handed the wallet back to Francis, who had been watching him carefully as he chose. He smiled when he saw what photo was missing.

“He loved that bear. His mother gave it to him.”

“His moth…” Alfred felt a shock run through him, which quickly dissipated and was replaced by embarrassment as he realized what Francis had meant. “Oh. You’re wife.”

Francis felt as if he had made a terrible mistake as he saw the look on Alfred’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said desperately, “I know this must be a lot to take in. I will leave you alone for a while, ok? And then you will be able to see Matthew in person.”

Alfred nodded numbly, still holding the picture out in front of him as Francis got up and left the restaurant. Then, sighing with emotional exhaustion, he stuck it in one of his pockets and darted out of the booth.

He needed to make an emergency phone call.

~

“Alfred, this had better be really bloody important.”

“How did you know it was me?” Alfred asked from the staff phone in the back of the McDonald’s. Between the two of them, Arthur and Alfred shared Arthur’s cell phone, which usually stayed with whoever was at the apartment, which didn’t have a landline.

Alfred heard something that sounded suspiciously like a growl coming from the other end, “Because you’re the only person who is so intent on ruining my life that they would wake me up at six in the bloody fucking morning with pointless phone calls.” 

“It’s not pointless! It’s really important.”

Arthur let out an aggravated sigh, and Alfred imagined he could hear the older man pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Speak very. Quickly.”

“Oh, um, okay. So I was working and then Rosa called for me and told me there was a guy with an accent asking for me and I thought it was you but it was this other guy and he was dressed all fancy and he kept staring at me and for a second I thought he wanted to-

“Alfred.”

“Yeah?”

“Much more quickly.”

Alfred took a deep breath, wondering how he should phrase this. He eventually settled on his preferred method, which was to blurt out whichever words popped into his mind most aggressively.

“My brother’s here.”

“What?”

“My twin brother, Matthew, and his adopted dad. They’re here, in New York.”

“I…”

“And they’re coming to the apartment at noon so I can see him, and, I’m sort of freaking out right now.”

“What?”

“And they think that we’re both college students. Oh, and that I was adopted, too, I guess.”

“….”

“…Arthur? You still there?”

“And is there anything else you need to tell me?” Alfred physically cringed away from the phone at how livid Arthur sounded.

“Well....”

“For the love of God, Alfred, what is it?”

“I think his dad’s French. Does that mean that Matt’s French too, now, or-

The line went dead.

~

 

Arthur kept up a continuous stream of furious mumbling under his breath as he feverishly attempted to make his apartment look presentable. 

“But really, why would he invite them to come here?” he griped, hands forming frustrated fists into his light blond hair as he surveyed the horrendous mess that surrounded him, an endless ocean of dirty clothes and broken C.D. cases and empty bags of McDonald’s and depleted bottles of liquor. Before Alfred (because that’s how Arthur’s life in America was organized in his mind, now, into two very different sections entitled ‘before’ and ‘after’, like Alfred’s appearance was something akin to the birth of Christ, or the fall of the Roman Empire), Arthur had prided himself in dutifully avoiding the stereotype of a messy “Bachelor Pad”, finding it easy enough to keep his living space tidy when he had been the only body inhabiting it. But Alfred was a terrible slob, and as the years went by Arthur had slowly given up trying to get him to clean up after himself, and surrendered himself to his roommate’s slovenly lifestyle. Now, as Arthur stared dismally at the disastrous results of his neglect, he could not help feeling that his life had finally spiraled completely out of his control.

He continued to mutter to himself as he picked up a t-shirt that, judging by its size, belonged to Alfred, cringing in disgust at the smell. “Should’ve made him do this ages ago, bloody slob….”

By the time Arthur could see the floor of the main room, it was already close to noon, and he found himself faced with other concerns as he waited anxiously for Alfred to come home. Besides worrying that they didn’t have any food, and that the only place to sit in the apartment was the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor that they used for watching movies and playing videogames on the Xbox 360 that Kiku had gotten Alfred on his birthday last year, Arthur was starting to wonder how this encounter would ultimately play out. Despite being the person closest to Alfred for the past three years, it had always been difficult to extract details of his past, and Arthur, always secretive himself, had never been terribly motivated to go fishing in that particular pool of emotional baggage. Most of what he had learned was either pieces of information necessary to keep Alfred healthy and safe, or snatches of memory that had slipped out over time, most often after Alfred had one of his nightmares. 

But while he might not know all of the details, Arthur knew that there were things in Alfred’s past that he wanted to forget, things that still haunted him, and things that could very well be buried deep down, just waiting for some significant event to spring out from behind the bushes and turn him into someone that Arthur didn’t even know. And, despite the way he acted towards him, Arthur did care very much about Alfred- enough to be wary of virtual strangers who appeared out of nowhere, claiming to be his family. In fact, Arthur was beginning to feel a bit personally offended by these claims, as ridiculous as he knew that was. Because, despite what DNA might be shared between Alfred and his brother, it was Arthur who considered himself, more or less, to be Alfred’s only family. He was, after all, the one who had rescued him; he was the one who took him off the streets, and he was the one who kept him sober, and he was the one who sold his drum set so that Alfred would have clothes and food and anything else that he needed. And where had these people been, anyway, when Alfred was alone, and young, and suffering? Maybe, had they decided to show up sooner, then Alfred wouldn’t have had to go through what he did when he was younger.

And, if that was true, then Arthur wasn’t sure if he was ready to forgive them so easily.

Just then, a buzzing sound came from the appliance on the wall near the door, and Arthur shook himself from his thoughts to answer it, desperately hoping that it was Alfred returning from work. He held finger down on the button as he spoke into the machine. “Alfred?” he asked hesitantly. His heart sunk when he heard an unfamiliar voice emitting from the speaker.

“No, I’m sorry, this is Francis Bonnefoy. Did Alfred tell you that we would be coming?”

Arthur sighed, closing his eyes, and fought the urge to run his forehead into the wall. He cleared his throat nervously before answering, “Oh, ah, yes. He did. Um…come right up.” 

After a few minutes of standing in the kitchen area, drumming his fingers on the countertop and pinching the soft skin of his lower lip between his teeth, Arthur heard a soft rapping on the door. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and strode over to the door, which he opened wide in one, quick motion. 

“Hello,” said the man standing in the doorway. “You must be Arthur. It is nice to meet you.” 

Arthur’s first impression of the man in front of him was that he didn’t look like he belonged in the real world, but rather on the cover of some cheesy romance novel; his shiny, long blond hair, slight stubble, and expensive-looking attire all gave Arthur an impression of roses and beautiful sunsets on idyllic beaches with doves flying all around. He wondered how this man could have a child as old as Alfred- he didn’t appear to be a day over thirty.

He realized that the man was holding out his hand, and shook it, deciding with a second glance that this man looked rich and absurd and that he didn’t like him. He could be polite when he needed to be, however, and he swallowed his thoughts as he spoke.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

Francis nodded as if Arthur had answered a question, “And this is my son, Matthew.”

Arthur jumped a bit, startled, as Francis moved to the side a little to reveal a second person standing in the doorway. Arthur wondered if the boy had been standing there the entire time.

“Hi,” the boy said to Arthur, fidgeting nervously.

“Hello.” Arthur replied, examining the boy’s face, “Christ. But you don’t half look like Alfred.”

Matthew shrugged, smiling a little, “Well, we are identical twins, so….”

“Right. So, um, would you like to come in? We don’t really have any, uh…chairs…..”

Francis chuckled a little as he stepped over the threshold. He gave Matthew a slight nod of encouragement as he did so, noticing that his shy son was still standing nervously in the doorway, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans.

“Do not worry about it,” he said, addressing Arthur warmly, “I know how it can be when you are in university. You should see Matthew’s dorm room.”

Matthew pouted, embarrassed. “It’s not that bad,” he mumbled, so quietly that it was almost unintelligible. 

Arthur, too, was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable (and also quite insulted that his apartment was being compared to a dorm room) and attempted to steer the conversation away from his supposed pursuit of higher education. “Alfred should be here soon.”

“There is no rush,” Francis assured. Arthur suddenly felt eyes on him, and turned his attention to Matthew, who was examining him closely. For the first time in his life, Arthur found himself thanking his genetics for the youthful looks that had earned him the upsetting label of “twink” in the workplace. If he had really looked like a twenty-six year old man, Alfred’s ridiculous story would have been even harder to maintain. 

Meanwhile, the three of them were still standing, staring at each other, all unsure of how to proceed. In the absence of the person who had brought them all together, the small room seemed slightly cavernous; empty and silent. Matthew, nervous and uncomfortable, coughed even though he didn’t need to, like he always did when faced with difficult social situations. Francis, worried about his son and increasingly hot and sweaty in his fancy suit, tried with all of his might to suppress the urge to stare at Arthur’s cute freckles and green eyes. 

“Would you like some tea?” Arthur asked his guests compulsively, wanting to break the stifling silence.

“Some water would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble.” And Francis had to swallow a lump of saliva as he watched Arthur turn around and walk towards a kitchen cabinet, giving Francis a lovely view of his ass in some very tight jeans, as well as a sudden, newfound appreciation for the “punk” trend. He cursed his notorious libido as Alfred’s roommate reached upwards to search for a glass in one of the kitchen cabinets, exposing a small strip of pale skin between where his shirt ended and his pants began. He looked away as Arthur closed the cabinet and turned back towards Francis with a frustrated sigh, repeating a mantra of 'he is probably the same age as Matthew, dépraver' in his mind. 

“We don’t have any glasses.” Arthur stated dejectedly, his tone resembling that of a broken man.

Francis snapped resurfaced from his depraved thoughts long enough to answer. “It is no problem, really. Right, Matthew?”

“Huh?” Matthew had not been paying attention to Arthur’s and Francis’s strained exchanges, opting instead to finding a seat on the floor among the pillows, all the while taking in the science magazines, Japanese videogames, classic novels and (he noticed with some amusement) several seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD, that were all scattered in haphazard piles around the apartment. And, even as Matthew smiled at all of these things, he couldn’t help but wonder if he even knew, after thirteen years, who Alfred was now.

It was with this thought in his head that Matthew heard the series of clicking sounds that indicated an opening door. All heads in the room turned toward it, and Matthew shot up from his seat on the floor. It felt to Matthew that, the moment Alfred stepped over the threshold, the stale atmosphere of the room shattered, like ice suddenly giving way underneath someone and introducing them to the cold, quiet world beneath.

“Well, it’s about bloody time,” Arthur, not sensing this monumental change, said irritably, crossing his arms and leaning back against the kitchen counter. 

But Alfred was much too busy staring at the boy who was standing in his apartment to do anything other than ignore his roommate. He remained in the same spot for several moments, eyes staring blankly as his mind attempted to process who was finally in front of him. Matthew did much the same, but was the first to break the electric silence.

“Alfred.” He said, the word riding on an amazed breath, before his face broke into a warm, astonished smile. Then he ran to Alfred, and as he received his brother with his arms, Alfred laughed.

“Oh my God, Mattie!” He exclaimed, exuberant laugher still in his voice even as it cracked slightly on his brother’s name. They embraced each other tightly, with 

Alfred lifting Matthew slightly off of his feet, and both were ecstatic and relieved to find that it did not feel at all like hugging a stranger, even if maybe it should have after so much time. When the two broke their embrace, they remained connected by touch, with Alfred placing his hands on the sides of Matthew’s now red and tear-streaked face, taking in every inch.

“Shit,” he choked out, still smiling widely, “I forgot how weird it feels to be around someone who looks just like you.”

Matthew laughed through his tears. “Alfred….” And they embraced again, not wanting the moment that belonged to only them to end. 

“Sorry I smell like burgers.”

“That’s okay.” Matthew’s quiet voice was muffled in Alfred’s shoulder.

Francis and Arthur, who had both taken notice of the fact that they were currently on the outside of Alfred and Matthew’s small world, watched the scene quietly, not wanting to disrupt what felt to all of them like a sacred moment. Francis kept his eyes glued on the twins as he felt a small, relieved smile growing on his face, and even Arthur could not pretend that he was unhappy to see Alfred smile so brightly and honestly. In fact, the sight filled his generally untouchable heart with radiant warmth.

The room had become quiet again, despite the sounds of the city drifting through the open window. But the silence was not empty, this time; it was bursting at the seams, a blessed and beautiful stillness that enveloped them all with a feeling of peace and security and love.  
After several moments in which the hush was only broken by the sounds of the boys sniffling, the two separated. Alfred patted Matthew on the back gruffly, and took off his glasses to hastily wipe away his tears, embarrassed; Matthew gave one last sniffle. Then they both turned to look at Francis and Arthur, both still beaming, but both unsure of what to do or say next. 

Arthur was the first one to say anything, and he did so with the same amazement and incredulity that was written in his facial expression, but also with hesitancy to be the official end to the moment. “I can’t believe you found him,” he said, shaking his head slightly, “You were separated thirteen years ago, right? You were six years old.” 

Alfred swallowed, still smiling shakily, “Yeah.” He slung his arm around Matthew’s shoulders, their eyes meeting again briefly.

 

Arthur continued to shake his head, “Christ.”

After that, Francis simply could not hold back his joy any longer. Grinning from ear to ear, he clapped his hands together in one swift motion. “Well,” he declared, “I am sure you two have a lot of catching up to do, non? Why don’t we all go somewhere nice for lunch? It will be on me.”

But Alfred became nervous at the man’s suggestion, and he met Arthur’s eyes from across the room, alarmed. “Uh…catching up?”

“Yeah!” Matthew chirped, breaking away from Alfred, who had still had his arm resting on his shoulders, “I mean, I feel like I don’t know anything about you. I want you to tell me everything!”

“…Everything?” Alfred hoped that it wasn’t too obvious that he was now full-on panicking, but apparently it was at least to Arthur, who interjected quickly.

“That’s very nice of you, but we couldn’t let you take us out to lunch.”

Francis quickly waved away the complaint, “Nonsense! I am sure you rarely get to eat good food, living on your own like this. It is not a problem at all, I assure you.”

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, I mean, I can sort of cook some things,” he babbled, “Like, uh, eggs. And macaroni. Oh, and s’mores pizzas. So, you know, we do pretty ok.”

“What are s’mores pizzas?” Matthew asked with genuine curiosity.

Arthur huffed, “You really don’t want to know.”

“Aw, c’mon. You know you like them.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

But Francis just continued to smile, “It really is not a problem at all. We would love for you to come with us.” Matthew nodded in agreement.

“Maybe another time,” Arthur said, still trying to communicate with Alfred through nothing but small glances, “Alfred and I actually have to work this afternoon. Right, Alfred?”

“What? Oh, uh, yeah. You know how it is. Work, work, work.”

Francis frowned, now slightly suspicious, “Yes, I see. And where else do you work?”

“…A coffee shop.” Alfred said, acting on the first thing that came into his mind. 

Francis raised an eyebrow, “Both of you?”

“…Uh-huh.”

Matthew, meanwhile, was shifting his still slightly wet gaze between Arthur and Alfred, suddenly looking a little dejected despite the still lingering bliss from just moments earlier. “But,” he said softly, sounding a bit puzzled, “It’s just, I thought that, when we got here, we would…I don’t know. Talk, I guess.” He fidgeted uncomfortably, trying not to show his disappointment too obviously. Seeing the expression on his brother’s face, Alfred sighed guiltily, wanting nothing more than anything to accept their offer and spend the rest of the day making up for years of lost time with Matthew. 

He gave Matthew a sympathetic look as he spoke. “We will talk!” he said as cheerfully as possible, attempting to reassure him, “We’ll talk loads! Look…tomorrow’s the Fourth of July, right? So we can spend the whole day having fun and showing you around and stuff.”

Matthew brightened, “That sounds fun.” He said with a shy smile. 

Francis took a few steps towards his son, allowing a hand to fall gently on one of the boy’s shoulders. “It sounds wonderful. And there is no worry about time- my work is very flexible, so we can stay as long as you both want.”

The boys both beamed, and luckily no one but Alfred noticed Arthur’s slightly pained expression as he continued to lean on the kitchen counter. Choosing to ignore this, Alfred suddenly gasped as he had a sudden realization. 

“And you can come to my birthday party tomorrow!” he exclaimed, ecstatic. Arthur’s eyes widened and he sent Alfred a furious look, but still no one paid him any attention. Instead, Alfred gasped again as another thought hit him, “And it can be Mattie’s party, too!”

Matthew laughed lightly, “Even though our birthday was on Monday?”

Alfred somehow managed to choke a bit on his own saliva. “Y-yeah. Monday. The first. Right.” He gave a nervous chuckle, “I just like the fireworks,” he explained somewhat lamely, but Matthew nodded in understanding. 

After that, things became a bit quiet again, and after a moment, Arthur took the opportunity to begin to casually lead their two guests towards the door. “I’m sorry, but we really should be getting ready for work,” he said, tone anything but apologetic. Matthew and Francis expressed their understanding, satisfied with the next day’s plans. Then there was a bit of exchanging of phone numbers and, before they left, Matthew gave Alfred one last, small hug.

“See you tomorrow.” He said, and Alfred grinned broadly at the promise. 

“Yeah. See you.” 

When they walked out the door, Alfred stood staring at it for a moment after, taking some time to allow everything that had happened that day to sink in. Without   
realizing it, he had still been grinning broadly, and he had to make a conscious effort to allow his facial muscles to relax as he became aware of the growing soreness in his cheeks. 

Arthur, meanwhile, was not sharing in Arthur’s giddiness. He sighed, displeased, and walked over to where Alfred had finally turned away from the door, and fixing him with a glare that Alfred recognized immediately. 

“Arthur,” he said cautiously, ready to defend himself. Arthur just continued to step slowly closer to Alfred, gaze still holding the promise of a good and proper scolding.

“Do you realize what you’ve done, Alfred?” 

“Uh….”

“You have invited two people who you have decided to lie to about your entire existence to a party with all of our friends.”

Alfred was confused, like he usually was when Arthur was angry at him, as to what exactly he’d done wrong. However, he attempted to defend himself anyway, “I panicked, okay? They were gonna take us out to lunch and ask us where we go to college and what we’re majoring in and what my parents’ names are! There’s no way I could’ve handled that!”

Arthur was now standing threateningly close to Alfred, and he looked like he was a moment away from pointing an angry finger in Alfred’s face. “Couldn’t you have thought of all that while you were working? Jesus, Alfred, I knew you were thick, but I didn’t think that flipping burgers actually required all of your mental capacity.”  
Alfred’s ears reddened at the insult, and he looked down at his feet, “I was thinking about other things, okay? This is…” he made a frustrated sound and rubbed his hands over his face, allowing his fingertips to slide under the frames of his glasses, “This is all just really weird. It all happened so fast.”  
Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and attempted not to feel guilty about his insensitivity. Still, he took on a noticeably more sympathetic tone as he spoke, “I know, Alfred. It’s just, I’m a bit worried about having all of them over here. Do you really think that, say, Feliciano, most likely under the influence of alcohol, will be able to keep all of your secrets for an entire night?”

Alfred’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension, “Oh…oh. Fuck.”

“Yes. ‘Fuck’.”

They stared at each other briefly, a grim atmosphere suddenly overtaking the room as the enormity of the problem sunk in. After a moment, Arthur raised his eyebrows slightly, as if challenging Alfred to clean up his mistake. “Well, it should certainly be an interesting birthday, if nothing else.” 

And Alfred smiled sheepishly, knowing by the tone of Arthur’s voice that he had been forgiven.

~

 

Alfred was in pain. He wasn’t sure where he was, or what was happening, but he knew that there were parts of his body that stung and parts of it that ached, and that he was hiding somewhere small and dark. His head throbbed unpleasantly, and he wondered if he had a concussion, and if that was why he couldn’t remember what was happening. He was afraid, and it was as if the overwhelming amounts of pain and fear were overriding his ability to think, because he could not remember how he had landed in this situation, or what he was afraid of. All that he knew as that he needed to keep hiding. He knew that he couldn’t make a sound, even though he was crying, and it was a constant struggle to keep his sobs from breaking free of his vocal chords. His body shook with the effort of holding them back as he lifted a hand to his mouth and bit it hard enough to leave marks on his small, soft hand.

A cold shock ran through Alfred’s body as he heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, and he closed his eyes tightly, thinking that maybe if he tried hard enough, he could transport himself away from that place, to somewhere bright and sunny and safe. But when he peeked an eye open to see if it had worked, his body hadn’t moved, and he could now see the outline of large feet coming towards his hiding place. Now trembling intensely, Alfred removed his hand from his mouth, and allowed the sobs that had been building up within him to wrench themselves painfully from his body, knowing that there was no point in being quiet, that he had already been found….

“Alfred. Hey, Alfred, wake up. It’s alright, love. Come on now. You’re alright.” Alfred felt a warm hand on his shoulder as he found himself still in the dark, struggling to breathe. Gasping, he realized that his eyes were closed, and it took a moment to remember how to open them. When he did, he looked around himself, struggling to get his bearings.

Arthur was there, kneeling at the side of their futon, still in his day clothes. His green eyes glinted in the minimal light that was coming from the main room as they gazed down at Alfred with intense worry. Alfred blinked up at him a few times, before sitting up in bed with a groan. His whole body felt hot, and sticky with sweat.

Arthur examined his roommate’s face with concern. “Do you want me to get you some water?” he asked gently, knowing from experience that Alfred would turn down   
an offer for tea. Alfred nodded slightly, not looking at Arthur, and Arthur stood up and walked out the door, leaving it open. As he waited, listening to the sounds of Arthur busying himself in the kitchen, he gazed out of the small bedroom window, attempting to pull himself out of his confusion by taking in his surroundings. From his bed, he watched the lights of the city and listened to its many sounds, feeling a sudden wave of affection for his very distinctive and recognizable home.   
When Arthur returned, he had a tall glass of water in his hand. He kneeled down again, handing the glass to Alfred, who began to chug it down immediately.

“Thanks.” He said gruffly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he stared at the glass he was holding. “Since when do we have glasses?”

Arthur shrugged. “I went out and bought some earlier.” He explained. 

Alfred just sighed in response, feeling himself beginning to calm down, even though his heart was still hammering in his chest. Arthur continued to watch him.

“That hasn’t happened in a while, has it?”

Alfred shrugged, knowing that his dreams had not stopped occurring, but that Arthur had just not been around to notice them. This one had been particularly vivid, however, and Alfred found himself feeling very grateful that his friend had come home at the right time.

“You think it has something to do with seeing Matthew again?” 

Alfred shook his head, “I don’t think so.” Arthur just nodded, and stood up to go look though the piles of clothes on their floor for pajamas. Once he had changed into his red and white checkered pants and Sex Pistols t-shirt, he walked over to the futon and lifted up the single blanket that had been covering Alfred. 

“Scoot,” he ordered, and Alfred slid over to make room. When Arthur joined him in the bed, there was no way for Alfred to hide the fact that he was still shaking slightly. Arthur sighed as he noticed this, and turned over to his side. “Come here, idiot.” He muttered, and Alfred instinctively slid into his friend’s arms, allowing his head to rest on Arthur’s small shoulder. Any embarrassment that Alfred had felt at being held by Arthur had faded long ago, and he simply allowed himself to enjoy how the embrace quickly cleansed him of all of his lingering fears, like feeling the chills be expelled from his body after sinking into hot water. He simply sighed into 

Arthur’s shoulder as his breathing became slow and even, and they both drifted off into calm, deep sleep.

~

The next day went by in a fast, confusing blur. To his complete devastation, Alfred noticed immediately upon waking that the sky had taken on a dull grey hue, and that a feeling of potential rain was hanging heavily in the air. He spent the entire time that he and Arthur were waiting for Francis and Matthew to arrive complaining loudly about how his birthday was ruined and how God obviously hated him. Arthur was unsympathetic.

“You’re unbelievable.” He mumbled as they both puttered around the apartment somewhat nervously, “Your long lost brother shows up out of nowhere, and you’re reunited with the only family you’ve ever had against all odds, and then you act like your whole life is ruined because you might not get to see fireworks on the Fourth of July.”

Alfred pouted, “But that’s the problem! We were all supposed to watch them together!” Then his eyes widened in horror as a thought stuck him, “What if this is, like, an omen or something?”

Arthur crossed his arms and glared up at Alfred with distain.

“No, seriously! What if this means that something horrible is going to happen and Mattie’s gonna leave and I’ll never see him again ever and-

“Alfred, relax. He’s spent more than half his life trying to find you. He’s not going to leave just because he realizes that you’re a complete idiot.”

“Hey!” 

Arthur merely shrugged, and before their conversation could continue, Francis and Matthew had already arrived and were waiting outside of their building. 

In the end, Alfred’s fears about ill omens and impending doom were proved to be largely unfounded. As the four headed uptown to the more tourist-friendly areas of the city, Alfred and Arthur found that it was very easy to keep the other two busy enough with sight-seeing that they didn’t have much time or energy left for asking questions. Even when there was a lull between activities, and Matthew would attempt to start a more in-depth conversation with his brother, then Alfred would simply pretend that he couldn’t hear him over the constant roar that surrounded them, which had become particularly aggressive because of the holiday. Matthew particularly was susceptible to this kind of treatment, as he was so used to not being heard no matter where he was.

But despite the abundance of these somewhat awkward instances, the day proved to be rather enjoyable. Alfred had, in a very rare moment of foresight, made sure to plan the entire day from start to finish. This was as much to make sure that there were not pauses in activity during which he could be interrogated as much as it was to make sure that they all enjoyed themselves. As Francis had offered to pay for cab fare, sparing them several trips on the subway, Alfred was able to drag them from place to place with very little difficulty, and in the span of a day was able to take them through Times Square (where he also insisted that he show them the M&M store, and purchase many bags full of the colored bits of chocolate for himself as well) and Rockefeller center, to the museum of Natural History (where Alfred spent almost an entire hour in every exhibit that had anything to do with outer space, and Matthew got very excited about all of the history exhibits; both Arthur and Francis mulled about uncomfortably, both bored but unsure if they wanted to speak to one another), and from there to Central Park, where they watched several people dance and play music. They even took a ferry to see the Statue of Liberty, which was fun even though it started raining heavily halfway through the ride.

The only time when it became difficult to deflect potentially dangerous conversations was when they all sat down to share a pizza, having returned from uptown as they made their way home to prepare for the rapidly approaching party. In the comparative quiet of the small restaurant, Alfred was no longer able to feign deafness when faced with questions about certain aspects of his life. But somehow, ever though he ended up telling them that his adoptive parents were “nice”, and that he was majoring in “space stuff”, neither of them seemed to be in the least bit suspicious, perhaps because they were so exhausted from the busy day. But Arthur thought that maybe it was because they were both as thick as Alfred.

Whatever the reason, the day went much more smoothly than Alfred or Arthur could have anticipated, and by the time they returned to the apartment, the sun was already beginning to set, and Alfred was humming with happiness and excitement. 

“This is the best birthday ever!” He exclaimed as they burst through the apartment door, a couple of bags of items that he had purchased with Francis’s money “As a birthday gift” hanging from his wrist. While Alfred had been more than happy to accept these gifts, Arthur had huffed pointedly and rolled his eyes whenever Francis had waved his sizable wallet around. After spending the entire day with him, Arthur had found the Frenchman to be even more flashy and pretentious than he had previously assumed. Throughout the day, Arthur had become more and more irritated at the older man’s mannerisms, from the way that he spoke and acted as if he were the only real adult present in their small group, to the way he shamelessly flirted with their waitress and the people at checkouts, to how he flipped his long hair frequently, like a L’Oreal model. It all made Arthur want to retch, and he had found it increasingly difficult to be civil as the day went on. 

Alfred, however, had noticed none of this, as he was too wrapped up in trying to connect with his shy brother and enjoying the positive attention he was receiving to care. He continued to grin broadly as he set his stuff down on the counter, even as Arthur scowled in an obvious bad mood. 

“Are you ready for the party?” Alfred asked Matthew, who just smiled, knowing that parties had never really been his raison d’être, but willing to grit his teeth and bare it for his brother’s sake. 

“We need to move the blankets to the roof.” Arthur said, glancing down at their living room blanket pile. Alfred nodded excitedly.

“Yeah. And the beer.” Arthur glared pointedly at him, but Francis noticed and chuckled.

“You will not hear anything from me,” he said, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender, “I am French. My mother used to put wine in my Sippy cup.”

Arthur rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day, but Alfred laughed. “Woah. Really?” he wondered. 

Arthur sighed, “No, Alfred. Not really.” Alfred looked disappointed, and Matthew laughed lightly at him. Then there was the sound of buzzing coming from the appliance near their door.

“Aw, man, someone’s here already?”

“It’s probably Kiku. He’s always early.” Sure enough, it was Kiku, and when he came through the door, Alfred was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. 

“Hey Kiku!” he greeted enthusiastically, and the smaller man winced a bit at his volume level. 

“Hello Alfred. Happy Birthday.” He handed his friend a small package, which Alfred took, thanking him happily. 

He then waved Matthew over to where they were standing, “Keeks, this is my brother, Mattie. Mattie, this is my best friend Kiku!” 

Arthur made an insulted sound from behind them, and Alfred looked a bit guilty. 

“Aw, geez, Arthur,” he mumbled, scratching his head a bit, “You’re not really my friend….”

Arthur repeated the sound, only this time louder and higher in pitch, but it only made Alfred laugh.

“You sound like such a chick when you do that, Arthur.”

“And just what is wrong with sounding like a chick?” said a voice from the hallway, and Kiku stepped out of the doorway to reveal two girls standing behind him,   
grinning.

“And just how did you two get in here?” Arthur asked, crossing his arms. They laughed. 

“We came in with Kiku,” one of them said, “But Laura dropped her cupcakes on the way up and had to make sure they were okay.”

“Are they?” Alfred looked concerned. Laura stepped into the room and handed him the box of cupcakes, pecking him on the cheek quickly as she did so.

“Almost all of them survived,” she said, smiling, “Happy birthday, Al.”

He grinned, “Thanks. Oh! You need to meet my brother!” he gestured proudly to his Matthew, explaining the situation. But before she could greet him properly, Francis cut in.

“And don’t forget about your brother’s father!” he said cheerfully, gently reaching for Laura’s hand and kissing it, “It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle.” Laura’s face tinted a bit at the attention, even as Alfred helpfully informed them that Laura didn’t “play for that team”. But her face wasn’t anywhere near as red as Matthew’s, who quickly began to stutter an embarrassed apology for his father’s inappropriate behavior. Before he could stop his stuttering for long enough to form a complete sentence, however, he was stopped in his tracks, as the second woman who had been waiting in the hallway stepped into the apartment.

As she stepped into full view, quickly gliding over to Alfred to give him a small hug, all Matthew could think was that this had to be the most absolutely beautiful person he had ever seen. He wasn’t sure how to describe it. Despite the fact that she looked like an actress, like the kind of person who just didn’t happen in real life, with her dark brown skin and shiny hair and big eyes, there was just something else about her that made him instantly aware of her. Something about her movements, or her smile. Matthew glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else was gazing in awe, as he was, but was confused to see that everyone was simply carrying on as normal.

After breaking away from their hug, the girl looked up at Alfred with her wide brown eyes. “I didn’t get you anything,” she said, her tone unapologetic, but her eyes looking a bit guilty. Alfred just laughed.

“That’s cool.” He shrugged. 

“I helped Laura make the cupcakes, though.”

From behind them, Arthur snorted derisively. “We all should stay away from those, then.”

“Shut the fuck up, Arthur.”

Laura glared at him as well. “I think you did a great job, Michelle,” she said quietly, ears turning a bit pink. Michelle thanked her, shooting another look of mock hatred in Arthur’s direction.

After that, Alfred herded Michelle over to meet Matthew, who stuck his hands deep in his pockets, and tried his best to act normal and cool. 

“It so great to meet you!” Michelle said happily, standing very close to him and smiling, “Wow, you look so much like Alfred.” 

“Uh…well, I uh…hi.” He floundered miserably, his face heating up in an intense blush. Michelle didn’t seem to notice. His dad, however, suddenly widened his eyes and   
arched his eyebrows with interest at his son’s behavior, and Matthew fought a sudden desire to curse out loud, thinking of the pestering he was bound to receive later. 

Arthur shook his head sadly, “He does look like Alfred, doesn’t he? Poor sod.”

“Hey!” Alfred protested, and Kiku snickered. But Alfred was still smiling, and quickly suggested that they all head up to the roof, seeming worried that they would miss   
the fireworks. As they were getting situated, all of them carrying up blankets and six packs of beer out into the comfortably warm night air, Antonio, Feliciano, and Lovino all trickled in. Soon they were all sitting comfortably, looking out expectantly in the appropriate direction, sipping beers and eating cupcakes and the pasta that Feliciano (God bless him) had taken the time to prepare for everyone. They all chatted happily with one another as they waited for the display to start.

“Say, Feliciano,” Arthur drawled, somehow already a little tipsy, “What happened with that bloke you were with the other day? The big, serious guy.”

Feliciano froze with a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth, and a slightly dejected expression found its way onto his face. It was Lovino who answered Arthur’s question, “Never called back,” he said without sympathy, “Typical. That’ll teach Feli to hang around a cop.”

“Now, now,” Antonio said calmly, “It’s only been two days. You still have a chance, Feliciano.” 

Feliciano smiled slightly, “Yeah!” He then became thoughtful, “I think I might have scared him a little, though.” They all laughed a little at the thought of Feli being able to scare anyone. 

Meanwhile, Matthew, having had his anxieties somewhat dimmed by the small amount of alcohol he had consumed, had managed to strike up a conversation with Michelle. 

“So, you want to be an elementary school teacher?” she asked, and he nodded, trying to keep his words (and possibilities for embarrassing himself) to a minimum.

“That’s great! I’ve always loved kids. I have about twenty younger brothers at home, actually.” 

Matthew blinked. “Twenty?” Michelle giggled at him.

“Well, okay, four. But sometimes it feels like twenty.”

“Oh.” Matthew noticed that, when Michelle had giggled, Laura, who was seated on her other side, narrowed her eyes at him slightly. “So,” he asked, feeling slightly unnerved, “What do you want to do?”

“I’m studying to become a marine biologist, actually.”

“Oh, really? Cool! I, uh, I’ve always liked, you know…fish. I mean, there aren’t many fish in Ottawa, but….”

Alfred unfortunately overheard this part of their conversation, and laughed loudly. “Mattie, why didn’t you tell me you had so much game?” He asked loudly. Matthew fought the urge to bury himself under the blankets and never come out.

Michelle rolled her eyes at Alfred, “Shut up, Al. We’re having a conversation.”

From a few spots away, Francis, who had been talking with Antonio, let out a troubled sigh, “I am afraid that Matthew has always been very shy around women. He has never even had a girlfriend.” 

Matthew sent his father his harshest glare, “Arrête, Papa! Tu est tellement embarrassant !” But Francis simply smiled in response. 

“Oh, I love you too, mon petite.” He turned to Antonio, “He has always been such an affectionate son.”

“That is not what I said,” Matthew hissed. But his bad mood dissipated when he realized that Michelle had turned to him with interest.

“You speak French?” she asked, sounding impressed. Matthew beamed. Laura turned her face away from them, looking upset. Before anything more could happen, though, there was the unmistakable sound of fireworks being let off some distance away. Alfred shouted excitedly.

“They’re starting!” He clapped his hands together. The fireworks were somewhat far from the apartment, but the display was so large that they were still clearly visible, and soon the group had gone quiet, staring transfixed at the colors in the night sky. After a few moments of relative quiet, Alfred, who was slightly drunk, as everyone else was, began to sing loudly and tunelessly, “Gooood bless Americaaaaa….”

Everyone groaned, and several of them pelted their empty beer cans at him. “Every fucking year,” Arthur complained, shaking his head. Alfred threw his hands up in surrender, and the quiet resumed.

While everyone was watching the fireworks, Arthur took a moment to watch Alfred. His face was lit up in excitement and wonder, and Arthur wondered, as he often did, how this could be the same person who woke up regularly in the middle of the night, shaking and covered in sweat from nightmares of his past. As Arthur looked away from his young roommate and returned his gaze to the myriad of flashing colors, he decided that it was very fitting that this country, in particular, should celebrate itself in such a way, with something so big and loud and violent and destructive and beautiful. He thought about how, in America, life’s pleasures always seemed to be mixed with pain, as everything was always being pushed to the point of uncomfortable excess. He thought that this rule applied to Alfred as well, and it made him feel like a weary old man in comparison. 

But as Arthur sat on the roof next to Alfred, surrounded by their friends and Alfred’s newfound family, he found peace in the thought that maybe Alfred had finally been given a chance at true happiness.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Chapter three is finally up...I hope you like it! We're really staring to get into things now. Again, thanks to everyone who commented, bookmarked, etc. (:

Ludwig Beilschmidt paced up and down his small, white, and very clean bedroom, contemplating his options carefully in his head as he walked. His cell phone was in his left hand, dangling uselessly at his side, and a cup of coffee was in the other, held up halfway to his mouth. It was only eleven in the morning, but even though it was one of Ludwig’s days off, he had been up since six and, for once, the police officer resented his very ridged schedule. The morning had seemed to draw on forever.

Ludwig was feeling very lost. This was something that he was not particularly used to, as he worked very hard on a daily bases to control his life so that hardly anything outside of his work could take him by surprise. And, after years of investigating the streets of the city, even the most gruesome crimes could hardly break through his stoically practical demeanor. Throughout most of his life, Ludwig had been consistent and sure of himself and his identity; he knew what he liked, what he didn’t like, what he valued, and what he stood for. When it came to most topics, Ludwig knew his position, and was firm and consistent in his convictions.

The subject of romance, however, was another story.

Ever since Ludwig was a little boy, when he and his family were still living in Dusseldorf, he had found the notion of romance irritating, mostly because no one ever seemed to stop thrusting it in his face, despite his disinterest. Whenever one of his classmates had pestered him, asking which girl he liked, or retelling with bewildered awe things that they had seen on the television when their parents weren’t looking, Ludwig had felt like he was being force fed something he didn’t want to eat. Every time he would say, “No thank you, I don’t want that,” they would just get confused, and offer it again, and more aggressively. When he was in secondary school, and one of the prettiest girls in his year had developed a crush on him, his friends had been shocked and appalled when he had rejected her. She had been upset as well, thinking that she was the problem…when in reality, the problem was that Ludwig didn’t even understand what a ‘crush’ was supposed to feel like.

There were times in his life, though infrequent, when he thought that maybe he was beginning to understand. They were only small glimpses; pleasant friendships that he could imagine maybe developing into something more, or brief pangs of an unfamiliar longing upon seeing strangers on the street. When his brother, Roderich, had married his wife, seeing their happiness had made him think that maybe there was some merit to be found in the concept of love. But, for the most part, all of Ludwig’s experiences had merely been uncomfortably forced attempts to make himself feel and appear ‘normal’, and his failures in this area had always left him wondering if there was something fundamentally wrong with him. Because, while everyone who cared about Ludwig always seemed to act as if there was something missing in his life, Ludwig had never felt anything other than whole.

He wondered if there was any purpose in what he was about to do. He had long ago given up on the idea of having a romantic partner, and he feared that another failed attempt would only end in pain. He didn’t want anyone to be hurt because of his own abnormalities.

But Ludwig felt, almost instinctively, that this was different. Because he knew that even those few moments of comprehension that he had experienced had only been hints, shadows of what others were able to feel. What he had experienced just days ago had been different- he had blushed, he had stuttered, he had felt deep, sharp feelings in the pit of his stomach- just like what it always said in books. Just like what everyone had always told him he should feel.

He set down his coffee, and dialed the number into his phone.

It had hardly rung a single time before it was answered. “Yes, hello. What is it?” the voice of his brother drawled through the speaker.

Ludwig cleared his throat nervously, wondering again if this was worth it. “Good morning,” he huffed, cringing immediately at how awkwardly formal he sounded, knowing that his brother would be suspicious. “Ah…how is Elizaveta?”

“She is fine,” Ludwig could almost hear Roderich’s eyebrows moving skyward, “Why did you call?”

“Well…” Ludwig wasn’t sure how to continue, and he found himself wondering why he hadn’t thought through this conversation more carefully, “Actually, I was thinking about visiting the museum later today.”

“Is that so?” Roderich questioned, obviously surprised, “Have you taken a sudden interest in the arts, brother?”

“…Something like that.”

There was a pause Ludwig’s brother probably waited for him to elaborate on this vague statement. When he didn’t, Roderick sighed in irritation.

“Well, if you want to come visit, that is fine.” The tone of his voice signified to Ludwig that he thought the conversation was more or less over. Ludwig couldn’t blame him.

“Well, actually…” he paused, not so much to organize his thoughts as to give himself time to build up as much courage as possible. He felt unpleasantly silly as he continued, “I was thinking that maybe we could work something out, that would be, ah…special.”

His brother’s momentary lack of response was all Ludwig needed to know that his cover had finally been blown. Even over the phone, he could tell that Roderich was smirking slyly on the other end.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” he said, his tone making Ludwig wish that they were speaking in person so that he could hit him properly. When Ludwig only grunted in response, he continued, “Hm…You know I would usually not use my job to do favors for you, Ludwig, but if you are planning on bringing a girl around, than perhaps we might be able to work out a special tour.”

Ludwig sighed, finding it unnecessary to the current conversation to point out that Feliciano was not, in fact, a girl. Instead he simply mumbled a reluctant, “Thank you,” and, after a bit of effort, managed to disentangle himself from any further conversation.

He hung up the phone, wondering how he was going to survive this day. He already felt exhausted.

Then, sighing, knowing that there was no way that he could back out now, he scrolled to the most recently added contact in his list.

This time, the phone rang so many times before being answered that Ludwig was very close to hanging up and, consequently, to renouncing any belief that he still may have had in the ideas of romance, attachment, and fate. Which, considering the fact that Ludwig had held very little belief in these concepts from the beginning, would probably end in him aging alone in his pristine apartment until he was as dry and as wrinkled as the pages of the books with which he spent all of his free time.

Although, in that particular moment, this prospect did not seem entirely unappealing to Ludwig.

He was not given time to consider it too thoroughly, however, because the phone was answered just before he could press the button. His heart sped up instantly as his ears strained to listen to the quiet, sleepy voice that drifted to him through the speaker.

“Pronto?” Feliciano said, his musical voice thick with grogginess.

Ludwig was mortified. “I-I’m sorry,” he apologized clumsily, “This is Ludwig. Did I wake you?” Because he himself kept such an early schedule, he had not even considered that the other man would still be asleep at this hour.

But Feliciano’s tone brightened immediately as he realized who was speaking. “Oh, hello Ludwig!” he exclaimed, sounding pleasantly surprised by the call.

Ludwig cleared his throat, “Ah, yes. Hello.” For some reason, Ludwig was suddenly reminded of doing presentations in grade school, and his teacher scolding him for saying “ah” between every other word. She had told him that it made him sound less authoritative. He wondered if Feliciano thought so.

“Well,” he started, now making a conscious effort to not sound like a nervous idiot, “I was wondering, since you seemed interested the other night, if you would like to visit my brother’s museum. Well, it isn’t…it isn’t ‘his’ museum, exactly, but he works there, so…I was wondering if you would like to go there, today. With me.”

There was hardly moment’s pause before Feliciano replied excitedly, “That sounds amazing! I would love to.”

Ludwig wasn’t sure if he felt relieved, or more nervous than ever, at Feliciano’s response. “Great,” he said, attempting to sound as easily enthusiastic as the younger man, “I will, ah…I will see you soon, then.” Feliciano agreed, and then they hung up, and then Ludwig got busy preparing himself for the day.

Meanwhile, in a small, unkempt apartment not very far from Ludwig’s, Feliciano bounded out of bed, singing happily to himself. From the bed which he had vacated, someone groaned into the covers.

“Will you shut the hell up, Feli?” Lovino griped.

“Sorry,” Feliciano replied, still smiling, “I’m just really happy today!”

                                                                                                                                                  ~

Matthew liked Washington Square. Compared to most of what he had seen of New York, which to him seemed to him like a photograph that had come out blurred as the result of too much frantic movement, just a mesh of confusing colors that conveyed nothing but speed and disorder, the square was to Matthew a relatively calm and spacious retreat. As he sat on a bench at the edge of the square, he found himself enjoying how everything slowed down enough that he could enjoy small things; the contrast of a few green trees against light blue sky and radiant steel, the shimmer of the sunlight reflecting off of the large, round fountain, the sounds of children crying and laughing and whining. Matthew didn’t hate the city, really, but it was a city of doers, of participants active almost to the point of aggression, and he himself had always been more of an observer. He didn’t like the idea that if he stopped to smell the roses (or the exhaust fumes) then he would be promptly run over by what could only be described as an armada of walking, talking bulldozers.

Alfred was sitting next to him on the bench, apparently attempting to inhale his sandwich and utilize it as a replacement for oxygen rather than actually ingest it. Matthew had noticed that this was Alfred’s way with food, and had added it to the ever-growing list of ways in which he and Alfred were different. Matthew didn’t mind these differences; in fact, he found them a little comforting. While he could never be sure which of his childhood memories were real, and which ones were fabricated, he thought that he had always had a picture in his mind of Alfred being very different from himself, and he liked the idea that these hunches were being validated. He had a feeling that, if he still could remember those days, then he and his brother still had something connecting them other than their identical DNA.

“Whatcha smilin’ at?” Alfred asked, a small grin appearing on his own face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Matthew blinked; he hadn’t realized that he had been watching his brother eat. He hoped that Alfred didn’t think he was too creepy.

“What? Oh, nothing,” he said quickly, embarrassed, “Sorry.”

“You’re sorry for smiling?”

“Um…”

Alfred had already stopped paying attention to Matthew, however, and he stood up suddenly as something apparently caught his eye. So fast that Matthew didn’t even know what was happening at first, Alfred dashed over to the ground in front of them, bending down. When he rose, there was something small and red clutched in his hand.

“Hey!” he called to two people with a baby stroller a small distance away. Then he jogged over to them, handing them the object. One of the strangers took it, smiling gratefully, and bent down over the stroller. Alfred beamed at them.

After a few more words were shared between them, Alfred strode back to meet Matthew at their bench. “She kicked her shoe off,” he said proudly.

Matthew merely nodded in comprehension. While it was nice that Alfred was prone to such random acts of kindness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that simple compassion wasn’t his brother’s only motivation. It was obvious to Matthew that he fed off of praise and attention, two things that always made Matthew shy away in discomfort, or “go into his shell”, as his Papa always said. It was this phenomenon that had earned him the nickname “Petite Tortue”- Little Turtle.

“Hey,” Alfred said, bringing Matthew back to the present, “Kiku got me a new game for my birthday, and I’m gonna go over to his place sometime to play it, and I was wonderin’…do you wanna come?”

Matthew blinked, surprised by the sudden offer. Until then, Alfred had seemed oddly reluctant to spend much time with him. “Are you sure it’s ok?” he asked, a bit nervously.

Alfred squished the paper left over from his decimated lunch into ball. “Yeah! Keeks has a really nice apartment. And you two should get along great; you’re both so quiet and everything. It’ll be really fun!”

“Oh, well then…sure,” Matthew smiled, “I’d love to.”

“Cool,” Alfred said, already seeming to become preoccupied with something near the other end of the square.

A few yards away from them, Matthew watched as a baby boy flung his binky onto the white cement.

Alfred didn’t notice.

                                                                                                                                             ~

In all honesty, the part that Ludwig had been the most worried about was the taxi ride. Once they were in the museum, he knew that Feliciano would be interested in other things, meaning that the potential for awkward silences would be significantly reduced. Actually, this is why Ludwig had chosen this venue in the first place, despite the inevitable and unwanted encounter with his brother. Because he had already been to an art gallery with Feliciano, he knew that he could handle it. A relatively long ride in a taxi, however, with nothing but the sounds of honking and the blabbering of annoying little television sets to fill the silence, was a breeding ground for potential disasters.

But when the time came, and the two of them were seated next to each other in the backseat, he realized that his worries were unfounded. When he had paced his apartment, thinking fearfully about long, empty moments of quiet, he had obviously underestimated Feliciano’s ability to fill the space with his words.

“Oh! That place over there makes really good sandwiches!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger at his window. Ludwig leaned over slightly to get a glimpse of the place in question.

“Hm,” he said, leaning back into his seat, “I’ve never been there before.”

“Really? I can take you sometime!” Then he giggled suddenly, “Did you see that guy on a bike? He had vegetables on his helmet!”

When they arrived at the museum, Ludwig paid their driver, and held the door for Feliciano as he got out. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, he stood and stared at the enormous staircase and white columns that were in front of him.

“Ludwig,” he said, gaping, “You didn’t tell me that you’re brother worked at this museum!”

Ludwig rubbed the back of his neck, “Ah, no, I suppose I didn’t. I am Sorry.”

But Feliciano flung himself at Ludwig, attaching himself to the larger man’s right arm. “No, don’t be sorry! It’s amazing!” he gushed. Ludwig became very flustered, and cleared his throat loudly.

“Well…should we go inside, then?”

The entrance hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was brightly lit, with sun streaming in through a round skylight that was reminiscent of the structures of ancient Rome. When they entered, Feliciano gasped audibly in delight.

“It’s so beautiful!” he exclaimed.

“You’ve never been here before?”

Feliciano shook his head. As they walked over to the long line for admission, Ludwig remained very aware of the other man, who was still clinging to his arm diligently.

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind Ludwig, “But you two look a little suspicious to me. I’m afraid I’m going to have to search you.”

Ludwig spun around, simultaneously detaching himself from Feliciano. “What...oh. Hello, Liza.”

His sister–in-law grinned. She had green eyes, long brown hair pulled back into an efficient ponytail, and was wearing a security guard’s uniform that barely seemed to fit over a large bulge in the area of her stomach.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Ludwig didn’t like the way that Elizaveta was smiling, or the way that her voice sounded significantly more high-pitched than usual. He hoped that it was just some bizarre hormonal symptom.

He cleared his throat, feeling his face heat up, even after making a conscious effort to physically force the blush from his features.

“Ah, yes. Th-this is Feliciano.” He gestured to the man in question, as if to make sure that Liza knew which person he was referring to.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Feliciano chirped, reaching out to shake her hand enthusiastically. At this moment, the expression on Elizaveta’s face was rather strange; her eyes were wide, and her lips were pressed tightly together as if attempting to hold back an uncontrollable, manic smile.

“It is very nice to meet you too, Feliciano,” she said, making meaningful eye contact with her brother-in-law. He looked quickly away from her.

“Oh!” Feliciano suddenly exclaimed, delighted, as he noticed Liza’s stomach, “Are you going to have a bambino? That is so exciting!”

Elizaveta smiled kindly at him, “That’s right!” she said, “There are only a few months left, now.”

Ludwig grunted, “Do you really think that you should still be working, Liza?”

She waved him off dispassionately, “Of course I am! I could work until I gave birth in the middle of the European sculpture gallery. But, unfortunately, Roderich is insisting that I take my leave next week.” Suddenly, Elizaveta’s demeanor changed, and she took on the person of a professional security guard once more. “Now,” she said, taking a few steps back from them, “I have been specially instructed that you two Very Important Persons are to be taken to the front of the line for a special tour.”

“Wow, really?” Feliciano looked overwhelmed with happiness, but Ludwig, who did not enjoy rule-breaking, narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Are you sure you won’t get into trouble for that?” he asked Elizaveta.

Again, she waved off his concern as if it were an irritating insect, “You worry too much, Luddy. Now, step this way please.”

In reality, Liza’s “Special Tour” consisted of her asking Feliciano what he would like to see next, and then personally escorting them to whatever exhibit he choose with rapid efficiency. Occasionally, if there were large crowds gathering around a specific piece, then she would politely, but commandingly, ask them to step out of the way so that they could get a closer look. This upset Feliciano, however, and she stopped doing it after he begged her to allow the other people to have their turn.

Elizaveta had looked as if she was going to cry.

Ludwig noticed that, for most of their visit, Feliciano was standing close to him. He didn’t hold onto his arm, as he had when they were first entering the building, but he did seem to gravitate to whenever Ludwig was standing, and Ludwig had to admit to himself that he didn’t entirely resent the invasion into his personal space. For instance, there was a moment when Feliciano stumbled on the stairs, and Ludwig was able to catch him by the arm. He had been slightly alarmed to find that he wasn’t only happy that Feliciano hadn’t fallen; he had been happy that he was the one to prevent it.

After a while, Ludwig’s brother appeared to greet them. There was really no reason for him to be there, but Ludwig assumed that he saw whatever was going on that day as an excellent opportunity to tease his brother. Upon seeing them, Roderich was not disappointed.

“Well, this explains a lot of things,” he said, smirking. After being introduced to the Feliciano, he had managed to find a bit of privacy with Ludwig as Feli had become particularly engrossed in a painting on the other end of the room.

Ludwig glared at him.

“It’s funny,” Roderich continued, “Our father always assumed it was me, for some reason.”

“Imagine that,” Ludwig huffed.

“Oh, there is no need to behave thit way, brother. You know I am fine with it. And Liza, well, you know how she is…Ow!”

“Hello, darling,” Elizaveta said sweetly, her nightstick clutched tightly in one hand, “What were you saying about me?”

Roderich pouted, clutching his wounded arm. “You can’t just use that for whatever you want, you know,” he said resentfully. She smiled at him, more sincerely this time, and rubbed his arm.

“I’m sorry, dearest. But don’t you think we should be letting Ludwig get back to his date?”

Ludwig flinched at the word. But Roderich either agreed with her, or was still wary from being struck in the arm with a nightstick, because he quickly retreated, leaving Ludwig to get back to Feliciano.

Ludwig wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen. After they left the museum, he and Feliciano went out to eat, chatting idly about art and history and Ludwig’s family members, and then Feliciano went home. They didn’t kiss, like they had only a few nights before, but Ludwig was almost relieved about that. The only thing that didn’t feel right about the end of the day was that he felt as if something important was missing once Feliciano had left his side. And, for the first time in his memory, Ludwig felt lonely in his apartment.

                                                                                                                                       ~

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Relax, Matthew. It will be good for you! You need to learn an appreciation for life’s finer pleasures.”

“Why would I do something that I hate?”

“How do you know that you will hate it? Besides, this is something that father and son are meant to do together when the son reaches a certain age.”

“I’m pretty sure that most people don’t go to strip clubs with their parents.”

Francis stopped walking abruptly. Before that, he and Matthew had been making their way down a relatively quiet sidewalk, the light from square windows and neon signs illuminating everything, making it appear almost as if night hadn’t already fallen. Now, sighing, Francis turned to face his son.

“I see what is happening,” he said, adjusting his features into their most pitiable expression, “You do not wish to spend time with me anymore.”

Matthew put a hand to his face in distress. “Papa, please don’t do this to me,” he begged, but Francis was merciless.

“No, no, I understand,” he continued, “You are an adult now. You have no need of your poor old Papa. It is perfectly natural, I suppose.”

Matthew rolled his eyes at his father’s theatrics, but found that he could not ignore the guilt that was beginning to fill his weak heart.

“Fine,” he grumbled after a moment, and Francis recovered suspiciously quickly from his apparent heartache.

“Fantastique!” he exclaimed, and they proceeded to walk towards their destination.

But Matthew’s reservations only increased when they reached the establishment, and his dad nearly had to drag him to the entrance.

“Do you have ID?” a very large and intimidating man asked Matthew. Poor Matthew could only stutter in response, and Francis had to intervene.

“He is supervised,” he said, flashing the man a charming smile, and handing him his own identification. After a moment’s consideration, the man shrugged, and  
allowed them both in.

Matthew came very quickly to the conclusion that this was going to be the most uncomfortable evening of his life. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy watching girls take their clothes off, or anything, and he certainly didn’t think that there was anything wrong with that personal life decision, but he definitely felt that he would enjoy the experience more in a much more private setting, with someone he actually knew. For the most part, if he saw a girl who he thought was pretty, his first thought was that he would like to get to know her a bit before he saw her breasts. He found it very difficult to enjoy the experience when all he could do was blush and sweat and fidget for all of the wrong reasons.

His father, however, did not seem to share this view. While Francis was undoubtedly of a different species entirely from the scores of drunken men shouting obscenities from their seats, he was certainly enjoying himself. For the majority of the time, he sat back calmly in his seat, winking and smiling at the girls as well as giving money to them. This behavior might have made Matthew extremely uncomfortable, if he wasn’t used to his father behaving in a similar way with everyone, everywhere, all the time.

After not very long, however, Francis’s eyes began to wander around the room. When they eventually rested on a small door on the other end, he discreetly tapped Matthew on the shoulder.

“I’ll right back,” he assured his son, who nodded, probably assuming that he was going to use the toilet. “Try to relax a little, non?”

The other room was different- darker, quieter, and more claustrophobic. Unlike the larger room which he had left behind, which was littered with poles and  
platforms, this room only had a single platform. Upon entering, Francis immediately found a place in the back, choosing not to sit; he was only stopping for a look, after all. He smirked slightly at the thought of poor Matthew, who was undoubtedly still squirming, and attempting to make as little eye contact as possible. He made a mental promise to himself that he would not leave his son alone for too long. He had simply wanted a moment to indulge his…alternative tastes.

Currently, there was a man out on the single stage. He was already down to nothing but briefs and a tie, but Francis had to admit that he wasn’t exactly his type. The man had more muscles than even Francis thought he would know what to do with. He took a moment to look out into the audience; it consisted mostly of women. Up near the stage, a woman was wearing a purple sash and plastic crown, and he assumed that she was a soon-to-be newlywed.

After the first man had finished, an announcer began speaking from somewhere off stage. “And now,” he said, with the gaudily forced enthusiasm of someone at a carnival advertizing a freak show, “All the way from the exotic shores of the British Isles, here for your enjoyment, give a warm welcome to our own Officer Kirkland.  
There was a smattering of cheers from the crowd, but Francis frowned. Why did that name sound familiar? Then the man in question stepped out onto the stage.

Oh. That was why.

Now, really, it wasn’t Francis’s fault that at first he didn’t see the obvious problems with his son’s brother’s young roommate suddenly appearing on the stage of a random strip club of which he was currently a patron. Because honestly, how could he be expected to form any sensible thoughts when Arthur was up there, swishing his hips and wearing a police officer’s outfit? It was unfair. He was only human. And so, Francis’s panic had not come to him immediately. It was postponed by a moment of mindless happiness that involved much staring and gulping and stupid, open-mouthed grinning. In fact, his mouth began to get very dry as Arthur moved, finally fining his way to the pole in the center of the stage….

Wait…what?

Francis blinked, like he was just waking up from a particularly vivid (and pleasant) dream. Then, still numb with confusion and shock, he waved over a young waiter who was walking past him.

“Excuse me, sir,” he asked, never removing his eyes from the stage, “But do you know how old that man is?”

The waiter frowned, “Who, Arthur? Um…I think he’s in his late twenties. Twenty-six, maybe?”

“Twenty-six,” Francis repeated vacantly.

“Uh, yeah,” the young man said, now eyeing Francis warily, “Is something wrong, sir? You look a little dizzy.”

“No,” Francis said, and the single syllable came out unexpectedly harsh, “Absolutely nothing. I just think I might need to step out for some air.”

                                                                                                                                        ~

Matthew was having a miserable time. His dad had not yet returned from the bathroom, and he was beginning to suspect that he had not really gone to the bathroom in the first place. It wouldn’t come as any sort of surprise if that were the case.

It was the same every time. Every single time a woman would come anywhere near him, she would eventually look at him, he would try not to make eye contact but would end up doing it anyway, he would think “she probably has kids or something”, and then he would think “I should probably give her some money”. But then, every time, crippled by anxiety and embarrassment, he would realize that he was entirely incapable of doing that. And then he would feel guilty. And then it would happen all over again the next time.

But if he was embarrassed already, it was nothing compared to what he was about to feel.

Matthew was not well acquainted with the rules and customs of strip clubs, but there was one thing he understood- if you unexpectedly run into someone you know at a strip club, it is almost always a bad thing. If you are a customer, and you see someone you know who is another customer, it’s awkward. If you are a dancer, and you see someone you know in the audience, it’s potentially life-destroying.

But, if you are a customer, and you see someone you know on stage, it’s…confusing.

Matthew was certainly confused when his brother’s friend Michelle came out onto the nearest pole, in a seeing-your-teacher-at-the-grocery-store kind of way. Well, there were some differences, obviously, most notably that Matthew couldn’t remember any of his teachers wearing high heeled boots and not much else (wasn’t the nakedness supposed to happen gradually, or something?) at the grocery store, but the amount of surprise was definitely similar.

And it was this surprise, embarrassingly, which prompted Matthew to be unable to hold back a soft (but noticeable) exclamation.

“Michelle?” he said reflexively, like shouting after burning yourself on the kitchen stove.

To her credit, she only lost her composure for a brief moment after hearing her name all but shouted at her. When her eyes found Matthew, they widened in shock, but only a second later she seemed to remember her surroundings, and she smiled a small, embarrassed smile in his direction.

And, because the situation was completely ridiculous, and because Matthew suddenly felt worlds better just after seeing that gentle smile, he smiled back at her, and laughed. And still dancing, still very much unclothed, Michelle laughed a bit too. It was a beautiful laugh.

Matthew fumbled with his wallet.

Before he could accomplish much of anything with his trembling fingers, however, Matthew felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and he turned around to see that his father had finally returned from the “toilet”.

“Get your things together. We are leaving,” Francis hissed in his son’s ear. Matthew stared at him, confused.

“Uh, ok,” he said, “But hold on a sec. I was just-

“No, Matthew. We are leaving. Now.”

Matthew frowned at the tone of his Papa’s voice. But before he had the chance to ask any questions, he found that he had gripped him by the arm and was pulling him out of his seat.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asked Francis, but his father ignored him. As he was pulled through the maze of tables towards the front door, Matthew shot an apologetic look over his shoulder at Michelle, but she didn’t look disappointed; she looked frightened. He hoped she didn’t think that he was in trouble.

When the two finally burst out into the night air, Matthew yanked his arm from Frances’s grip.

“What was that about?” he asked, but his dad didn’t seem to be listening. He was already plowing a path through the crowds down the sidewalk.

“Dad, wait! Where are you going?” he walked quickly, eventually managing to fall into step with the older man, “What did you do? Are you in trouble? Talk to me!”

Francis gave his son a small, apologetic look, but did nothing to slow his frantic pace. “Oh,” he said, with uncharacteristic rancor, “I am not the one who is in trouble.”

“What does that mean?” Matthew wondered desperately. Suddenly, Francis stopped. He had led them around the corner, to the other side of the club, and they were standing outside of a large grey door that obviously wasn’t a main entrance. Then, without ceremony, he smashed his fist against the door multiple times.

“Dad!” Matthew gasped, alarmed. Then, after hardly a moment, the door opened halfway. A man in a black shirt, black pants, and a professional-looking headset stuck his head out.

“Can I help you?” he asked harshly. Francis’s confrontational demeanor never wavered.

“Yes, in fact, you can,” he said darkly, causing the man to raise his eyebrows, “I would like to speak to Arthur Kirkland, immediately if possible. Call it a “Family emergency”.

“Wait, what?” Matthew whispered, “Arthur’s here? What’s going on?”

But the man shook his head, “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, sir. Mr. Kirkland is working right now.”

“Then I will wait.” Francis crossed his arms defiantly.

The man looked as if he was about to kick them off of the premises, but just then a voice drifted to them from over the threshold.

“Is something wrong?” it said from inside, “I heard you say my name.”

The man pinched the bridge of his nose, and the swung the door open all of the way. “Do you know this man, Arthur?”

From the doorway, Arthur stared at the two of them, his expression completely blank. He was wearing a large black raincoat that hid whatever he was wearing underneath, and the light from what was presumably a dressing room caught in his light hair before spilling out onto the dark street.

“Fuck,” he said.

Francis only continued to glare at him, chest rising and falling rapidly in anger. Noticing the look in Francis’s eyes, the man in all black turned to Arthur, concerned,  
“Do you need me to, um, take care of this for you?”

Arthur shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” He wrapped his raincoat more tightly around himself, “Tell Marie I left, alright? I was done for the night anyway.”

The man didn’t look happy about it, but he grunted and allowed Arthur to step out onto the sidewalk. Then, with one last threatening look at Francis, he closed the door, and the three of them were alone.

For a beat, no one said anything, and groups of people bumped into them as they walked by. Then Arthur attempted to meet Francis’s eyes. “Now,” he said calmly, his tone reminiscent of a high school guidance counselor, “Let’s try to talk this through rationally.”

But Francis responded by gripping the younger man’s arm tightly, and bringing their faces closer together. “I asked a waiter for your real age. You lied to us,” he growled.

“Papa….” Matthew said quietly, but Francis didn’t hear him.

“Let go of me,” Arthur spat, freeing himself from Francis’s grip, “I know this looks bad, but I can explain, if you would give me ten bloody seconds….”

“Yes, please,” Francis said venomously, “Explain. Explain to me why my son’s brother is living with a twenty-six-year-old stripper-

“I don’t see what my being a stripper has to do with anything, actually,” Arthur interjected, lip curling, “And, to be honest, I would rather not do this out in the open. The apartment’s just around the corner….”

“Oh, we will do this here, now,” Francis said, but Arthur was already walking briskly down the sidewalk, and Francis and Matthew had no choice but to follow him.

Francis would have heckled Arthur all the way back to the apartment, but Matthew placed a gentle hand on his father’s arm, giving him a meaningful look that told him to wait. And so, the walk was tense and silent.

But when Arthur reached the door of his building, the dam broke almost as soon as he began fumbling with the key.

“You must understand,” Francis started again, more calmly than before, but only slightly, “That when I see a grown man, living with a university student-

“Alfred isn’t a university student.” Arthur mumbled, rolling his eyes as he opened the door, and began heading for the old, narrow staircase.

“Excuse me?”

Arthur began walking up the steps, “He isn’t in university. Obviously.”

Francis shook his head in disbelief. He turned to Matthew, who was walking behind him. He hadn’t said a word since they had left the club. “And what do you think of all this?” Francis asked him.

“Well…” Matthew said, not meeting his father’s eyes, “I mean, I sort of suspected that he wasn’t telling me everything….”

From ahead of them, Arthur chuckled slightly, “See? At least your son seems to have some common sense.”

“Matthew,” Francis said, sounding hurt, “Why did you not tell me?”

“I just thought that he would say something when he was ready.”

For a moment, Francis almost felt guilty, but then he shook his head as they stopped outside of Arthur and Alfred’s door. “You are far too trusting, Matthew,” he said sadly.

Arthur swung the door open, and the three of them stepped inside. “Now,” Arthur said quietly, “We can talk. Just don’t be too loud; Alfred’s sleeping.”

Francis chuckled darkly, “Oh, so you are his father now?”

Matthew frowned, “Dad. Stop it.”

“Stay out of this, Matthew.”

“How can I stay out of it? He’s my brother. This affects me more than it affects you.”

Francis shook his head, “You don’t understand, Matthew. Because of my mistake, I am responsible for anything that has happened to Alfred.” When he said this, he glared pointedly at Arthur.

Arthur had had enough. “You know what? You’re right,” he spat, taking a threatening step closer to Francis, “You are responsible. And yeah, a lot of ‘things’ have happened to Alfred. But I sure as hell am not one of them. In fact, you are goddamn lucky that I found him.”

“Oh, yes, I am sure he is very lucky, as an impressionable young boy, to have miraculously been ‘found’ by a grown man, who he now shares a one room apartment with-

“Uh, guys,” Matthew said nervously, “You’re getting kind of loud….”

“How dare you.” Arthur said murderously, “How dare you accuse me of that. I would never hurt Alfred. You don't know anything.”

“I know a bad situation when I see one,” Francis retorted, “I have half a mind to get Alfred and take him back to Canada with us tonight.”

“He’s not a child! He wouldn’t just follow you home like a stray animal!”

“No, I’m sure he would not; who knows how you have brainwashed him.”

Matthew’s eyes suddenly widened “Guys….” He said. But neither man heard his quiet voice over their shouting.

“I cannot believe this,” Arthur ranted, “After all that I have sacrificed, all that I have done for him, now you walk in and act like you’re his savior, just because you wear fancy suits and can buy him presents, and just because of the job that I had to get so that I could support him…after I took him off of the fucking streets…By the way, tell me, since you’re so streetwise, how many people do you know who would see a dying, crack-addict orphan on the side of the road, and do anything other than walk right past him? If it wasn’t for me, he would have been lying dead in an ally somewhere three years ago!”

His words rung in the air, like the sudden silence after the crack of a whip, or a particularly decisive gunshot. For a moment, Francis gaped at Arthur in horror as the truth began to slowly sink in. But then he noticed the distress on his son’s face, and that it was not directed towards himself, or Arthur, but at the bedroom door.

“Alfred….” He said quietly, a few tears beginning to trail silently down his face.

Francis turned to face the door, already knowing that he would see Alfred standing there. But what he could not have prepared himself for was the look of complete devastation on his face.

“Christ,” Arthur muttered, running a hand through his hair, “Alfred, I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, Alfred just stood there, hair still ruffled with bed-head, and stared at them with wide eyes covered by crooked glasses. The, he bolted across the room and out the door so fast that none of them could react, slamming the door behind him.

“Alfred!” Arthur called. He started to go after him, but, to his surprise, he found Matthew blocking his path.

“I’ll handle it,” he said gravely, “You two stay here, and work this out.”

As the two older men looked at Matthew, their eyes showed so much guilt that he almost pitied them, but he still though that they had both been acting selfish.

“He’s probably gone up to the roof,” Arthur said numbly. Matthew nodded, and left the two of them standing awkwardly in the main room.

Sure enough, when Matthew made it to the roof, Alfred was there, near the edge, with his knees pulled up close to his chest. When Matthew sat next to him, he was staring up at the sky.

“You…you can’t really see any stars, here,” Matthew said. Alfred closed his eyes, as if trying to wish himself somewhere else.

Matthew waited a moment, trying to decide what to say next. Finally, he sighed. “You could have told me, you know.” He said.

Alfred shook his head, opening his eyes to stare out at the city. “I bet,” he said, “That when you imagined meeting me, you didn’t picture me like this.”

“What do you mean? I found you. You’re alive. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Alfred looked away from him. “I’m a fuck-up,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Stop it, Alfred. You’re not a fuck-up. You’ve been through a lot…” Matthew was having difficulty keeping his voice steady, “…But you’ve gotten through it. You’re probably the bravest person I’ve ever met.” Alfred still wouldn’t look at him, “And it could have just as easily been me. And I don’t…I don’t know if I would have made it as far as you have.”

Alfred turned and stared at his brother with wet eyes, “Really?”

Matthew smiled, “Definitely.” They sat in silence for a few moments, before he spoke again. “You know, it’s weird,” he said, “But I don’t really feel like we’ve been separated for that long, you know? I feel like I still know you.”

Alfred smiled a little, “I know what you mean.” Then his eyes widened, “Hey, what if we have psychic powers, or something?”

“What?” Matthew laughed.

“I read somewhere that twins can have psychic powers. Like, they know what the other one is thinking and stuff.”

Matthew snickered again. “Oh, okay,” he said, “Let’s try it. What am I thinking about?”

“Um,” Alfred screwed up his features into a look of extreme concentration. “Hamburgers,” he finally declared. Matthew shook his head, grinning. “Oh,” Alfred said, “I guess that’s what I was thinking about.”

Matthew laughed, then, and Alfred joined in, and for a little while, the two just sat there on the roof, both just enjoying that they were able to be together.

~

After Matthew shut the door behind him, Francis and Arthur were faced with a terrible, guilty silence. They were both standing in the main room of the apartment, trying not to make eye contact, and shuffling their feat like chastised kindergarteners.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to lose patience. Sighing heavily, he made his way over to the window, gracefully stepped out onto the fire escape, and lit himself a cigarette. He only had time to enjoy a few moments of peace before Francis followed him, awkwardly crawling out of the window to join Arthur in the now too-cramped space.

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket as Arthur attempted to sit comfortably while also avoiding making any physical contact with Francis. Then, Francis cleared his throat, trying to sound casual.

“Would you mind, ah….”

Arthur sighed again, and handed Francis his lighter.

“Thank you.” There was a pause, and the sounds of several car horns going off drifted up to them from the streets below. “Do not tell Matthew about this. He does not know that I still smoke.”

“Alfred hates it,” Arthur said, taking a drag, “Americans. They’re so uptight about those sorts of things. Meanwhile, all of our neighbors own guns.”

Francis decided to ignore that alarming statement, hoping that it was an exaggeration. Instead, he said, “Technically, Matthew is Canadian.”

Arthur snorted, “Is there a difference?”

Francis bit his tongue.

After a moment, Arthur suddenly rubbed his hands over his face, groaning. “I really shouldn’t have said those things,” he lamented, “With the way Alfred behaves, it’s so easy to forget how sensitive he still can be. Not that I blame him.”

“We all make mistakes,” Francis said, staring straight ahead, “And, from what I’ve heard, it sounds like Alfred is lucky to have you.”

“Hm,” Arthur glanced at Francis out of the corner of his eye, “And I…I suppose Matthew is lucky to have you, as well.”

Francis let out a bark of a laugh, and Arthur frowned at him. After a moment’s thought, he asked, “So, why did you adopt Matthew, if you don’t mind me asking? You must have been quite young.”

“You flatter me,” Francis said, winking. But Arthur gave him a look that said that had definitely not been the intention, so Francis continued. “Marianne and I, we were together in high school. We were young, and stupid, and she was sick…” Francis took in a shuttering breath, “Now, of course, I realize how selfish it was of us, to take bring a child into a home that was already destined to be broken. And of course, we went and found the somewhere out of the way, undocumented, and that’s why Matthew and Alfred ended up separated. But she couldn’t have her own children, and honestly, I…” he stared out into the lights of the city, “I couldn’t stand the thought of being left alone.”

Arthur looked down into his lap, “Oh.”

“I am afraid it is not as heroic as you taking in Alfred.”

“I don’t think of it that way.”

Francis frowned, “Why not? As you said before, there are not many people who would have done the same.”

“That’s just it,” Arthur said, knitting his eyebrows together pensively, “He was only sixteen at the time. He was a kid, and he was dying, and no one was doing anything. And I just thought, how many of these people send money every month to some starving child in Africa who they never even see? But then you put a starving child right under their noses, and they step over him like he’s a stain on their carpet.”

Francis stared at him. They were making eye contact for the first time since the argument, and Arthur didn’t even look angry. He just looked like he was trying to explain something very important to Francis; the expression in his green eyes was incredibly earnest.

Francis couldn’t help himself.

CRACK.

Before Francis could even begin to piece together what had happened, Arthur was crawling back in through the window, and the left side of Francis’s face felt as if it was on fire. After he had collected his wits, he scrambled in after Arthur.

“Unbelievable,” Arthur was saying, storming to the kitchen, “Un-fucking-believable. You find out I’m a stripper, and then you try to kiss me. You think I’m easy, now, is that it?”

Francis sighed, cursing his uncharacteristic tactlessness. “Of course not, Arthur. That is not the reason-

“I don’t want to hear it!” Arthur snapped, “That’s it- I want you out of here.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me! Leave, go on!”

But Francis didn’t leave, much to Arthur’s dismay. Instead, he began to walk slowly towards him.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked harshly, “Stay away from me!”

Francis continued to walk until he could place one arm on either side of Arthur, effectively pinning him to the kitchen counter. Arthur swallowed, but didn’t make any  
attempts to break free. “This is ridiculous,” he said.

“No. What is ridiculous, chérie, is that you could ever imagine that I would think that you are easy. Because I am fairly certain that you are the most difficult person that I have ever met.”

And, with that, he managed to successfully kiss Arthur. Within seconds, they were gasping, breathing hot breath into each other, and Arthur kept thinking that he should push Francis away, because he hated him, and everything, but it had been so long since he had been properly kissed, and both of their mouths tasted like cigarettes, and how had he ended up sitting on the counter…?

They were forced apart suddenly by the sound of familiar voices in the hallway. Francis let go of Arthur, and Arthur jumped down from the counter, embarrassedly wiping a large patch of saliva from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

When the boys entered, they both stood and stared at Arthur, both with very different expressions on their faces. Alfred, who had always been pretty terrible at reading environments, shook his head, looking disappointed.

“Were you guys fighting?” he asked, “Like, actually fighting? That’s really immature. And don’t try to deny it; you’re both all red and sweaty.”

But Matthew, who was very good at reading environments, and who knew his father well, said nothing, but gave Francis a look that said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Arthur cleared his throat loudly, “Uh, yes, Alfred, you caught us. We’re very sorry.” Francis nodded in agreement. But then Arthur seemed to remember what had happened, and he gave Alfred a genuinely apologetic look. “Are you feeling better?” he asked him.

Alfred smiled, “Yeah. It’s all good.”

Arthur relaxed, “Good. Now, it’s almost two in the morning. I say we all go to bed.”

Alfred nodded, suddenly yawning, “Yeah, okay.” But then he smiled again, “Hey, you know what I just realized? Now that everything’s out in the open, we can spend a lot more time together! No more secrets.”

Arthur swallowed, “Yeah,” he said faintly, “No more secrets.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry if this chapter took a while...I wasn't really keeping track, but it felt like it took a little longer than the others. Everything just always ends up so much longer than I expect it to be.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much to anyone who left kudos, bookmarked and commented (and just thanks especially to my reviewers because you are sweet, beautiful people and I love you a lot). 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the chapter. And happy holidays, also (:

Kiku’s apartment really was pretty nice. It wasn’t the biggest of places, but New York City didn’t seem to have an abundance of personal space on the market, and what it lacked in dimensions, it more than made up for in esthetics. If the enormous side window looking out on a gorgeous view of Lower Manhattan wasn’t enough, then the fully equipped kitchen, sleek and stylish appliances, and flat screen television all aided in giving off an impression of modest wealth; although, compared to Alfred and Arthur’s apartment, any living space with regularly running water seemed like an absolute miracle of modern technology. Matthew wasn’t entirely sure where the soft-spoken, virtually unreadable photographer was able to acquire enough money to afford such a handsome living space. He assumed that it was at least questionably legal. 

He shifted on Kiku’s leather couch, uncomfortably aware of the noises it made, even though both Alfred and Kiku were currently in the kitchen preparing snacks for their planned night of gaming. Matthew had offered to help, of course, but the other two had insisted that he remain in the living room and relax. And so, Matthew was stuck sitting on the noisy leather couch, picking at potato chips and hastily attempting to clean up any crumbs that he dropped, and trying not to feel like too much of an outsider.

From the kitchen, which was attached to the living room, but not a part of it, Matthew could suddenly hear the telltale sounds of calamity. There was a crash, a mumbled, “Fuck. Sorry, man,” followed by the heavy, resigned sigh of someone who has long since given up on real anger as an emotion. A moment after all of this, Alfred appeared at the kitchen entrance, covered in sticky rice and looking sheepish. 

“Got kicked out,” he explained, making his way over to the couch and plopping down next to his brother with enough force that Matthew was momentarily launched out of his seat, “We, um, might just be sticking to the potato chips tonight.”

“Oh,” Matthew said, readjusting himself, “That’s okay.” It might have been Matthew’s imagination, but he thought he could hear some very quiet and irritated Japanese muttering drifting in from the kitchen. “What did you even do?” Matthew asked curiously.

Alfred shrugged. “I was just trying to help,” he said. 

Not long after, Kiku emerged from the kitchen area looking flustered, wearing an apron and picking various foods out of his hair. 

“All of that work,” he muttered irritably, “For nothing.” Then he fixed Alfred with a level but unpleasant stare.

Alfred shrugged, “It’s not a big deal, man. We usually just eat regular snack foods anyway.”

“But we have a guest, Alfred.” Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his seat, causing an array of embarrassing noises.

“It isn’t a problem,” he insisted, “Really, I-”

“Hey, since when am I not a guest?” Alfred asked, speaking over his brother. He leaned back into the couch, placing his hands behind his head, and his feet on the coffee table.

Kiku walked over to the television, kneeling down and beginning to fiddle around with some wires. “You practically live here,” he said, “Please move your feet.”

“It’s nice here. There’s A.C.,” Alfred retorted. Then he smirked devilishly. “And, Keeks?” he said, “You might wanna take off your apron.”

Kiku’s ears tinted red, and he stood up and rushed back into the kitchen, with Alfred laughing behind him. When he returned, moments later, the apron had been discarded, but Kiku was still red in the face. He ignored Alfred, who obviously found the situation much more humorous than his friend, and instead gave Matthew an apologetic look.

“I am very sorry about this,” he said, “I am usually a much better host. I don’t know what has come over me.” Matthew may have been seeing things, but Kiku’s unreadable eyes seemed to dart in Alfred’s direction, as if making sure that the other knew exactly whose fault this was. He must not have imagined it, because Alfred actually sobered up a little.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said genuinely, “Really. I’m sure Mattie doesn’t mind though. Right, Mattie?” He gave his brother an unnecessarily pointed look.

Matthew smiled at Kiku reassuringly, “Of course not! I’m just happy to be here.”  
Kiku seemed to relax a bit. Matthew had noticed that the quiet man seemed a lot more expressive today than he had been at Alfred’s party almost a week before. He assumed that he was just more comfortable in smaller groups, like himself. Or maybe Alfred had just finally pushed him to his breaking point. 

“Okay,” Kiku sighed, taking a seat in chair next to Matthew and Alfred, “Everything is set up. Matthew, what character would you like to play as?”

If Matthew had been surprised by Kiku’s angry outburst about the food, then he was shocked and slightly horrified to witness the spectacle of Alfred and his friend playing videogames together. The chosen game was some kind of Japanese zombie-horror fighting game, and, while the effects seemed a bit cheesy to Matthew, the combination of scary music, heavy breathing noises, and zombies occasionally popping up where they weren’t expected seemed to be too much stimulation for Alfred. While playing, Alfred would either be screaming angrily, throwing his body around as if he could make his character move by sheer willpower, or falling out of his seat in terror if a zombie showed up on the screen unexpectedly. Matthew quickly realized that he was in a very dangerous position next to his brother, and had tried to move as far to the other end of Kiku’s couch as possible to avoid being kicked, punched, or elbowed.

Kiku, if quieter than Alfred, was just as enthusiastic. He was leaned forward in his chair for every second that they played, legs drawn close to his body, eyes fixated intently at the screen. Matthew was glad that they were playing on ‘team’ mode. From the look in Kiku’s eyes, he could tell that he would never want to play against him.

But, all things aside, Matthew was enjoying himself, even if he was more or less dead weight in the actual game play. So it was disappointing when the Kiku’s cell phone started to ring, and he had to pause the game. The room was suddenly filled with an empty silence as the sounds of gunshots and zombies (and Alfred) screaming were brought to an abrupt halt.

“I’m sorry,” Kiku said as he checked the caller ID on his phone, “I have to take this. You can keep playing without me, if you want.”

Alfred groaned as Kiku left the living room. Looking disappointed, he threw his controller onto the coffee table, sighing heavily. 

“What was that?” Matthew asked, concerned, “Is something wrong?”

“Nah,” Alfred said dejectedly, placing his feet back on the table, “It’s just his job. This happens all the time- he probably won’t be done for a while.”

Matthew looked down at his own controller as if it were an animal that had just died in his hands. “Oh. Well…I guess we could keep playing?”

Alfred shook his head. “Nah, that’s dumb,” he said, and Matthew felt a twinge of irritation at his brother’s sudden apathy.

“Well, what do you want to do, then?” he asked. Alfred seemed deep in thought. “We could go back to my hotel,” Matthew continued, “There’s room service, and a pool and stuff….”

But Alfred shook his head, suddenly brightening in excitement. “No, man!” he said, suddenly standing, a frightening gleam coming into his blue eyes, “You know what I just realized? This is an amazing opportunity.”

Matthew was alarmed. “An opportunity…?”

“Totally! I mean, you’ve been in NYC for almost a week now. And what have you done?”

Matthew thought about it. “Well, I saw the fireworks, and we went to-”

“Nothing!” Alfred exclaimed, cutting his brother off, “Well, nothing good anyway. Tonight is your chance to live it up!”

“Okay,” Matthew said tentatively, “What do you wanna do?”

“Um, I don’t know yet. Anything!” He started walking towards the door. “Come on; Kiku won’t mind if we leave.”

Matthew hesitated. Whatever Alfred was planning, he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the kind of recreation that he was used to. But Alfred looked so excited, and so earnest, that he couldn’t say no.

“Alright,” he decided, finally standing up, “Let’s go.”

Alfred held the door open for him as they left, and Matthew couldn’t help but think that his brother’s smile looked slightly manic. He hoped desperately that he hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

~

Arthur stared at his small bookshelf, trying to decide what he would read while he ate his dinner. Alfred had already been at Kiku’s for over an hour, and Arthur was still trying to convince himself that he was enjoying the newfound silence in his apartment. To make up for some of this silence, he hummed The Clash to himself as he scanned the spines for something properly old, eloquent, and English.

Before he could make his final selection, however, Arthur wrinkled his nose in reaction to an alarming new smell that was making itself apparent in the room. After pausing briefly to thoroughly experience a moment of dread, he turned around to see that smoke was beginning to rise in softly curling wisps from the stove. 

“Oh, bloody- shit, shit, fuck!” he chanted, bounding over to the kitchen counter and praying that he wasn’t about to have his entire building evacuated (again) by setting off the smoke alarms. Panicking, he shut off the stove, and flung it open, coughing as he was hit by a thick, black cloud of smoke. 

“Every…goddamned…time!” he yelled at no one, between coughs. Then he ran into his and Alfred’s bedroom, covering his nose and mouth with the crook of his arm. 

When he returned, he was carrying the small white fan that they used to keep cool during hot summer nights. He plugged it into the nearest outlet, and stood there, holding it up to his smoking stove, feeling ridiculous and ashamed. After the smoke had dissipated enough that Arthur could face his stove without his eyes stinging, he grabbed the old t-shirt that they used as a potholder and pulled his disastrous creation out, setting it on the counter.

The frozen pizza was, as Arthur had feared, nearly unrecognizable. It wasn’t as if he had been particularly looking forward to the sorry excuse for a meal, but he hadn’t felt like going out to get food, and had just wanted something quick and simple. Now all hopes of that were destroyed, and he had wasted an entire meal. Realizing this, Arthur proceeded to kick the stove in frustration.

“Bloody old piece of shit,” he grumbled. It was true, to an extent: the stove looked as if it could have been a feature in the apartment back when in its earliest days. But   
Arthur couldn’t blame the equipment entirely, as this sort of incident never seemed to happen when Alfred was the one cooking.

Before Arthur could do anything more than stare in shame at the product of his failure, he was startled by the sound of the buzzer going off. For a moment, he looked at it in surprise. Then he narrowed his eyes at it in suspicion. Alfred surely wasn’t home from his friend’s yet; the two could go on for hours on their worst days.

But Arthur had an unpleasant feeling about who it could be.

He kept his face tensed into a sour expression as he walked over and held a finger down on the button. 

“Yes?” he said, trying very hard to squeeze out every ounce of irritation that he was experiencing into the single syllable. The voice that answered him confirmed Arthur’s fears. 

“Hello,” it said pleasantly, seemingly oblivious to Arthur’s tone, “It is Francis. May I come in?”

Arthur took a long moment to glare at the appliance, hoping that maybe if he tried hard enough, then the Frenchman might be able to feel it three stories down. Then, sighing, he returned calmly to his bookshelf.

A few seconds went by. Then, “Arthur? Are you still there?”

'No', Arthur thought, 'go away'.

“You might want to let me in,” Francis’s disembodied voice continued, “There is a woman down here who is giving me very unpleasant looks.”

“I wonder why,” Arthur mumbled to himself.

“I was just wondering if you would like to go out to dinner.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I know you are up there. I’m not going to leave.”

Arthur pulled a book out of his shelf with theatrical serenity, “Well you’re going to be out there for a long time, frog.”

Francis’s voice was quickly losing its gentle tone. “Arthur, this is ridiculous. To be honest, I think that you are being very immature.”

This was the last straw for Arthur, who abruptly dropped his book and charged angrily over to the intercom. 

“Oh, I’m being immature?” he snarled into the speaker.

“Oh, bonsoir, Arthur! I am so happy that you answered. I was getting worried that something horrible had happened to you.”

“Shut up. I only answered because you were harassing me.”

Francis sounded mildly offended, “I think ‘harassing’ is a strong word.”

“Is it? I half expected you to start throwing rocks at my window.”

There was a pause. “Actually, I have done that before,” Francis admitted.

Arthur groaned. 'How did I get stuck with this lunatic', he thought.

He tried another tactic to shake the other man off. “I have to work tonight,” he said.

“No you don’t,” Francis replied almost instantly, “It is your night off.”

Arthur’s eyes widened in horror, “It’s…really disturbing that you know that.”

“Do not flatter yourself; Matthew told me. I am not stalking you,” After saying this, Francis actually held his finger down on the intercom so that Arthur could hear his dejected sigh. “Please let me in. I only want to talk.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing that he had virtually no chance of getting rid of Francis at this point. He heaved an irritated sigh of his own, before buzzing the Frenchman in without a word. A moment later, he realized in horror that the mess from a few minutes ago was still on the counter, and rushed over to dispose of it.

“Where is the bloody trash bin?” he griped, now running around the apartment in a state of panic. After a few minutes of this, there was a rap on the door. Arthur chucked the burnt pizza into his and Alfred’s room, and slammed the door before going to let Francis in. 

“Hello,” Francis stood in the doorway, dressed in another fancy suit and grinning in the most irritating way possible. Arthur merely shot him a nasty look, choosing to say nothing as he stepped aside to let the other man in.

Francis’s nose wrinkled a bit as he entered the apartment. “What is that smell?” he asked, “Is something on fire?”

Arthur continued not to look at him as he answered, “Probably, somewhere. It’s a big city, you know.”

Francis watched Arthur thoughtfully as he continued to putter around the apartment, picking things off of the floor in a deliberate and obvious effort to ignore his guest.

“I am sorry,” he said, confused, his nerves grating at Arthur’s behavior, “But have I offended you in some way?”

Arthur let out an annoyed puff of air, finally turning to face Francis. “Well,” he said harshly, “I don’t usually react very well to near strangers aggressively trying to get into my pants, to be honest.”

Francis raised his eyebrows. “It is strange. You are making it sound like I am the only one who has shown any interest.”

Arthur spluttered, “I-I…that was…You took me by surprise, that’s all. It was a mistake.”

Francis looked down at his feet. “Well,” he said quietly, “If that is how you feel.”

Arthur stared at him. How was the man making him feel guilty? That kiss had been a mistake; he was only being honest.

Francis looked back up to meet Arthur’s eyes, “In any case, my offer still stands. We have a lot to talk about. And don’t you think that it is better if we at least try to get along? For the boys?”

“It didn’t seem like you were thinking about what was best for ‘the boys’ when you were trying to sleep with me,” Arthur retorted, and he almost flinched at the sound of his own words. He didn’t know what it was about Francis that made him behave so harshly. He just couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Francis bit his lip, and Arthur’s face heated up. “Alright,” he said, maybe a little angrily, “Fine. I will leave you, then. Goodnight.”

But as Francis turned and began to make his way to the door, Arthur suddenly found that he was no longer in control of his speech. The words tumbled out of his   
mouth, beyond his control, “Wait! No, no, you…bloody hell, you don’t have to leave. We can…” He sighed, resigned, “We can go out to dinner, if you really want to.”

Francis froze. When he turned around to face Arthur, a small smile had returned to his face. “Excellent!” he exclaimed, seeming to have recovered completely from 

Arthur’s blows, “You know, I found the nicest little place the other day….”

But Arthur wasn’t exactly listening, because he was too busy wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into, and why.

~

Matthew was starting to feel like he had relinquished all control of his own fate. Or, rather, that Alfred had stolen it from him. As they wandered through the streets of the Lower East Side, the warm, heavy air was buzzing with the excitement of nightlife; not necessarily restricted to the kind which required drinking and dancing, but also the energy of people who continued to work and move and live into the late hours. This energy only served to make him more anxious, and Matthew found himself feeling a little regretful about his inability to just say ‘no’. As a result of this weakness, he was uncomfortable, nervous, and being lead completely blindly by his brother, who seemed to be more likely to follow his own bizarre whims rather than any kind of logic. 

But, then again, maybe Alfred had been right when he had said that Matthew needed to get out and live a little. He looked over at Alfred, who was humming to himself and smiling, and having an excellent time just enjoying the warm summer night and the sense of excitement and activity that saturated the atmosphere.   
Matthew wondered why he couldn’t be as relaxed as his brother. He had been given an opportunity to have a fun night with Alfred- so why couldn’t he just unclench his sweating fists and enjoy himself?

Matthew was so lost in thought that he ran straight into a man who was standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Oh! S-sorry,” he stuttered.

“Do you want to buy this?” the man, who was wearing a shirt with the sleeved ripped off, and a black cap on his head, said.

It took as second for Matthew to realize that the man was holding a CD out to him. Tucked underneath his arm were several more. “Huh? Oh, I, um….”

Thankfully, Alfred stepped in before Matthew could say anything more. “C’mon, Matt,” he instructed, gripping Matthew’s upper arm and steering him away.

“But,” Matthew began to protest, “I ran into him. I could at least give him some money, or something….”

But Alfred just chuckled at him, letting go of his brother. “Don’t worry about it, Mattie. Seriously.”

Matthew shot a guilty look behind him. The man had already been enveloped by the crowd. Then, turning back to face forward, he glanced out of the corner of his eye at his twin.

“Uh, Alfred?” he asked after a moment, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah?” Alfred responded, already loud voice slightly elevated in order to be heard over the din of the city.

“Where are we going?”

Alfred just shrugged, grinning widely and picking up his walking pace.

Matthew sighed. He had been afraid of that response.

Then, another thought popped into Matthews mind. It was a question that had been nagging him for the past couple of days.

He cleared in throat. “Uh, Alfred?” he repeated.

“Yeah, Mattie?”

“I was just wondering, um…Michelle, she’s,” Matthew could feel his face heating up, “I mean, I saw her, at the club, and I was just wondering, uh, not that it matters or anything, but, I guess she isn’t a college student either? Not that it’s important. Or anything. I’m just curious.”

Alfred continued to focus on the sidewalk in front of him, “What, Shelly? She’s in college. Her family just doesn’t have a lot of money, so she works at the club during   
breaks and stuff.” 

Matthew couldn’t help but smile softly to himself. “Oh,” he said, “That’s really cool. I mean, that she’s putting herself through school, and everything.”

Then, to Matthew’s horror, Alfred stopped suddenly in his tracks, leaving the light but constant stream of people to part around him. When he turned to look at Matthew it was with a scheming, lopsided smile, and glint in his eye that Matthew didn’t like at all.

“Hey,” Alfred said mischievously.

Matthew stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “W-what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You like her.”

Matthew blinked at him. “What? N-no, I-”

But Alfred had already resumed his walking, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, bro,” he comforted, “I get it. She’s pretty, smart, nice….”

Matthew’s face felt like it was probably glowing bright red. “It sounds like you like her,” he mumbled. But Alfred just laughed.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head, “We’re just friends. She isn’t really my type.”

Matthew looked over at his brother, “What is your ‘type’, then?”

Alfred looked surprised by the question. “Um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I dunno, man.” He trailed of, not answering the question, and Matthew noticed that he now looked strangely subdued, his excited energy suddenly dampened. As they walked, he thought that his brother’s eyes looked slightly guilty, like he had been about to say something he shouldn’t.

It passed quickly, Alfred’s energy returning to him as he was struck with an idea. “Hey!” he exclaimed, “I know what we’re gonna do now!”

Alfred didn’t tell Matthew where they were going, and he didn’t begin having suspicions until it was too late.

“Alfred, no,” he said nervously, as he started to recognize the route that he had taken with his Papa only a few days previous, recognizing the lessened noise levels and the way that the glow from several neon signs had begun to tinge the atmosphere a rusty orange, “I can’t go in there, I can’t-”

Alfred smiled reassuringly at his brother as they neared the strip club. “Relax, bro. It’ll be fine. Just let me do all the talking, okay?”

Matthew wasn’t at all reassured by this notion, but something stopped him from fighting Alfred as they turned a corner, heading once again to the supposedly restricted back door. He wasn’t sure if that something was bravery, or cowardice, but as it propelled him forward he found himself feeling strangely numb. He wondered if he was having an out-of-body experience.

Alfred knocked on the metal door calmly, the way one would knock at the door of a friend’s house. The sound hardly seemed to travel far, and was swallowed by the sounds of cars and people and sirens, so Matthew had a brief but desperate hope that no one would hear it.  
Unfortunately, the acoustics in the dressing room must have been pretty decent, because within the span of moments a large with kind eyes but a scowling mouth appeared in the cracked door.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said when he saw Alfred, “Blondie isn’t working tonight. Sorry.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, “I know that. I’m here for Michelle.” The man began to open his mouth in response, but Alfred beat him to it. “Michelle!” he called, getting on his tiptoes in an attempt to see over the man’s head, “Are ya in there? It’s me, Alfred!” He then proceeded to wave his arms in the air wildly.

Matthew groaned, buying his face in his hands. The security guard reached up and seized Alfred by one of his wrists. 

“Hey!” Alfred protested, struggling. 

The man glared at him. “Just because you have friends here, kid, doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Then a third voice came from inside the building. “Alfred?” it asked incredulously, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hi Michelle!” he called, waving again, “I brought my brother, Mattie! He wants to talk to you!”

“Alfred!” Matthew squeaked, but Alfred just winked at him conspiratorially.

After a few words were exchanged between Michelle and the security guard, Alfred was released, and Michelle appeared. She was wearing a light blue, silk robe, her long dark hair was captured in two braids, and she seemed to be halfway through applying her stage makeup. She looked embarrassed, and was glaring at Alfred with a kind of bewildered venom, like she could not even begin to process the boy’s stupidity. 

Matthew immediately felt a kind of kinship with her.

Alfred only continued to smile at her, oblivious. “Hey, you remember Mattie, right? Well, he’s got some stuff to tell you.” He then stepped to the side, revealing Matthew proudly like he was the next puzzle on an episode of Wheel of Fortune. So much for ‘I’ll do all the talking’. 

Matthew stared at the woman in front of him with wide, frightened eyes. Then, to his horror, words began to fall out of his mouth uncontrollably. He was reminded strangely of the time one of his friends had dared him to try and eat a whole bag of Maltesers, and the little round candies had tumbled from his mouth like a waterfall.

“Oh, uh, y-yeah, uh…hi.” He tried to smile at her, but he realized that she probably couldn’t see it, as he was staring very intently at the light grey pavement, “Um, I just wanted t-to say, uh, sorry for the other night. I-I wanted to give you some, you know, some money, b-but…”

Matthew found himself running out of words, so he chanced a look up at Michelle. He felt nauseas as he saw that she was smiling kindly at him. There was maybe even a little pinkish tint developing on her cheeks, probably from remembering that Matthew had watched her perform.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Oh, that. Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy that everything worked out between the four of you.”

Matthew swallowed, the dryness in his mouth making it difficult, and mustered up the courage to smile back at her. “Thanks. I’m…I’m happy, too.” Then they stayed like that, for a few moments, just smiling shyly at each other.

Alfred, however, stood off to the side, eyes darting between the two quickly, like he was watching a very rapid tennis match. After a second or two of silence, he decided that events were not progressing fast enough for his liking, and helpfully interjected. He slung an arm around his twin’s shoulder.

“And, Mattie wanted to ask if he could make up for it by buying you dinner sometime. Right, Matt?”

Matthew’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? N-no, I, I didn’t-”

Michelle rolled her eyes, “God, Alfred. Leave him alone.” But then she looked at Matthew thoughtfully for a moment, and said, “But…dinner does sound nice. I mean, if you want to.” She fidgeted nervously with the sleeves of her robe, not looking at Matthew.

He blinked at her a few times, her words not sinking in properly. “Ye-yeah! Of course!” he said, still in shock.

Alfred beamed, pleased with his accomplishments, “Awesome! He’ll call you, okay?”

Matthew and Michelle both glared at him simultaneously. Then Michelle crossed her arms, looking Alfred over suspiciously.

“So what are you two up to tonight? Are you going to Tony’s gig?”

Alfred brightened in excitement. “Oh, yeah! I forgot about that, thanks!”

Then the security guard reappeared behind Michelle, giving her a pointed look. She sighed, “I have to get going.” She smiled at Matthew, “It was nice talking to you!”   
Then the guard closed the door, giving Alfred one last glare as he did so.

“It…it was nice talking to you, too!” Matthew called, too late for Michelle to hear him. He continued to stare at the grey metal, letting out a contented sigh.

Next to him, Alfred, thrust a triumphant fist into the air. “Aw, man! Score!” he cheered. 

Matthew snapped out of his daze to glare at his brother, although one corner of his mouth seemed to be permanently stuck in an upturned position. “I can’t believe you did that, Alfred!” he groaned, “I’m so embarrassed.” 

Alfred was practically bouncing up and down, “Aw, what’re you embarrassed about? She said yes, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but-”

“See? You should be thanking me! I mean, seriously, would you have done that if I hadn’t helped you?”

Matthew thought about this. He had been prepared to scold Alfred, and tell him that he should learn to mind his own business, but those words stopped him in his tracks. Matthew knew that Alfred was right. If it wasn’t for the irritating and uncalled for actions of his brother, he would probably have avoided Michelle for the rest of their stay in New York. Instead, he now was going to go on a date with her.

He felt his heart start to pump quickly at the idea, but Matthew was surprised to find that it wasn’t from anxiety. In fact, he felt suddenly giddy, and as he took a deep breath of the thick, dusty-smelling city air, he felt as if it were filling him with energy and excitement. 

He looked over at Alfred, and smiled.

Alfred laughed, clapping him on the back. “Yeah, man. And now we can go to Antonio’s gig! He plays at this little coffee shop place; you’ll like it.”

“Okay,” Matthew said, still smiling. He felt like he could handle anything.

There were some things, however, that neither boy was prepared for. 

Alfred had lead them out onto wide and bustling Bowery, and they were walking and chatting happily, when Alfred suddenly yelped in shock, grabbing Matthew’s arm and pulling him back.

“Wha…what are you doing?” Matthew wondered.

When Alfred looked at Matthew, there was shock and fear in his eyes. He seemed unable to articulate what he had seen, and after several moments of opening and closing his mouth like a gasping fish, he merely pointed towards the building that they had just been about to walk past- a small restaurant with large windows and a green, overhanging awning with white cursive letters.

Matthew started to walk over to get a good look, but Alfred held him back, so he settled for peeking cautiously into the restaurant.

“…Oh.” He said, as his eyes fell on the source of Alfred’s distress.

“That’s all you have to say?” Alfred whispered fiercely, eyes still bulging out of his head as he leaned over to try and get a better look at Arthur and Francis, who were seated conspicuously at a table next to the window, talking, a basket of bread sitting between them.

“Um…yeah?” Matthew was a little confused at Alfred’s reaction. “I don’t know, Alfred. They’re just having dinner. And why are you whispering? It isn’t like they can hear us….”

Alfred shook his head, eyes narrowed as he continued to observe the two from his concealed location. Then he turned his focus abruptly back to his brother, placing a sturdy hand on both of Matthew’s shoulders.

“Matthew,” he said seriously, “Is your dad, you know, um….”

Matthew raised his eyebrows, “What? You mean, does he like guys?” Alfred nodded solemnly, and Matthew had to laugh a little. “I thought that was pretty obvious. Haven’t you noticed him flirting with everyone?”

Alfred shrugged, and Matthew wondered if his brother actually hadn’t noticed.

“What about Arthur?” he asked Alfred.

“Are you kidding me?” Alfred was getting more and more hysterical with every word he said, “He’s super gay! He’s, like, the gayest person I know!” Then he frowned thoughtfully, “And I know a lot of gay people.”

Before Matthew could respond, Alfred covered his face with his hands, “Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.”

“Is it really that bad?” Matthew wondered, scrunching his face up a little as he watched his brother’s dramatic reaction.

“Of course it’s bad! You don’t know Arthur. He’s terrible at relationships! Trust me, if we let this happen, then it’s going to end with a toaster getting thrown out a window, and us never seeing each other again.”

“Um…a toaster?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Alfred looked miserable. 

Matthew placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “Papa wouldn’t let that happen. Neither would I. Besides, I didn’t think that Arthur even really liked him.”

But Alfred shook his head again. “That’s just the way Arthur is; the more he likes you, the more he yells at you. You should see how much he yells at me!”

“…Hm.”  
Alfred peeked over the corner again, “Maybe we should go in there. We can yell at them, and then they’ll feel bad, and then they’ll stop trying to ruin our lives. Plan? Plan.”

Matthew sighed, upset that Alfred’s panic was contrasting with his newfound pleasant and relaxed state. “I think that you might be overreacting,” he said soothingly, 

“How about we just go to Antonio’s thing, and we’ll deal with this if anything else happens. Okay?”

Alfred stared at him. Then, to Matthew’s bewilderment, he laughed slightly.

“What? Did I say something funny?”

Alfred snickered, “You say ‘about’ funny. ‘Aboot’. Ha ha.”

Matthew glared, “Yeah, okay, fine. Let’s just go, okay? My dad thinks I’m at Kiku’s house, and I don’t really want him to see me.”

Alfred cast one last, concerned glance at the restaurant, like he was still wishing that he could barge in and start pelting dinner rolls at Arthur. Finally, he looked away, with an expression like a sigh of resignation.

“Alright, fine.” Then he braced his right hand on his knee, bending down like he was about to start a marathon, “We blend in with the crowd in three, two….”

~

As soon as they entered the coffee house, Matthew immediately felt comfortable. The place was built less like a café, and more like a comedy club, with a raised stage overlooking a sea of tables. The brick walls, dim lighting, and pleasant smell of polished wood all made Matthew’s eyelids feel heavy, and he was happy to sink into a chair across from Alfred, where he felt safely enveloped by the dark atmosphere.

They were a little late for the event, and Antonio was already in a seat, cradling his guitar and introducing his second song into the microphone. Matthew relaxed even further when he began to play, something slow and gentle and beautiful that had Antonio strumming the metal strings gracefully, one finger following the other in rapid succession. When he sang, his accent made the English words sound less harsh and blunt.

Matthew leaned over to speak near Alfred’s ear, “He’s really good!”

Alfred smiled. “Yeah. He and Arthur used to be in a band together.”

“Seriously?” Matthew was surprised. He tried to picture Arthur in a band, but found it to be slightly beyond his imagination. “What happened?” He wondered.

Alfred’s smile fell slightly as he shrugged, “Well…Lovino and Feli’s grandpa died, so Tony let them move in with him. And him getting AIDS didn’t really help.”

Matthew gaped. He couldn’t believe that Alfred had just given away something so personal and serious so easily. As he turned his attention back to the stage, noticing even from a distance how Antonio smiled contentedly to himself as he played, he struggled to fight the sudden choking feeling in the back of his throat.

“And…” Alfred continued, looking down into his coffee, “I mean, when Arthur took me in, he kind of sold his drum set, cuz I needed clothes and stuff.” Then he looked up, smiling proudly. “But, I’m gonna try and get him a new one! I’ve been saving up bits of my paychecks.”

Matthew watched his brother as Alfred’s eyes landed back on Antonio, and felt like a hole was opening in his stomach. While he and Alfred had been getting along well, they had for the most part stayed away from any serious topics, mostly because Matthew had been reluctant to ask many questions after the disaster of a few nights ago. But it was moments like this when Matthew was reminded of how little he knew about his brother’s past.

Antonio’s song finished, and Matthew clapped enthusiastically, while Alfred cheered, “Yeah, Antonio! Woo!” At the recognizable sound of Alfred’s voice, the man looked over to their table, and waved, not appearing to have any delusions of professionalism.

Matthew felt oddly special for having a connection to Antonio, even as he felt an embarrassed blush appear when many of the audience members looked towards their table.

Antonio played several more songs, before leaving the stage to allow the next artist to have their turn. As a pretty woman with dreadlocks and piercings took the stage, Matthew leaned over the table to Alfred. “We should probably get going, Al,” he said quietly, so as to not be disrespectful, “I don’t know when my dad will be coming back….”

Alfred scrunched his face up in disgust at the reminder of what they had seen on the way there. After a moment, and a brief glance at the stage, he sighed, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Arthur kind of, um, warned me not to get you into trouble or anything, so I don’t think he’d be too happy either.” 

“Did you get me into trouble?” Matthew asked, confused. He didn’t feel like he was in trouble, and he could usually tell, because of the cold sweats and heart palpitations.

Alfred thought for a moment. Then he grinned, “You know what? I didn’t. Actually, I did a totally awesome job of not getting you into trouble.”

Matthew laughed, “You did.” Then his mind flickered suddenly back to Antonio, and he decided to ask something that he had been thinking about since the man had left the stage. “Um, Alfred? Do you think that I could see Antonio before we go? I just, uh, I just wanna tell him that I thought he was really good.” 

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” Alfred said, slightly surprised. Then he gestured to a small wooden door in the corner of the room, “He’s probably hanging out in the back room over there. You can just walk in…I need to take a wiz, but I’ll come and get you when I’m done. Okay?”

“Oh. Uh, okay,” Matthew mumbled. He hadn’t exactly planned on going alone, but he had already made up his mind, so he and Alfred temporarily went their separate ways.

Matthew paused outside of the door to the backroom, wondering how Alfred could have thought that he would be welcome there. But, figuring that there was no turning back at that point, and thinking that it would be stupid to knock, he turned the knob and pushed lightly, peeking his face in.

“…So, anyway, now he’s spending all of his time with the bastard,” a young man who Matthew recognized from Alfred’s birthday party was saying, “I keep telling him that it’s damn stupid, but you know how he is. He thinks life is like some cheesy movie, or…or something.”

“It is what it is, Lovino,” Antonio replied lazily, “His life can be a cheesy movie if he wants it to be.”

“True,” said another person, this time someone that Matthew didn’t recognize. Lovino rolled his eyes.

Matthew attempted to make his presence known by opening the door a bit wider, and was hit with a strong smell that he couldn’t exactly describe, but could definitely recognize from the dorms at his school. He felt his face get unbearably hot as he looked at the faces of Lovino, Antonio, and a few other people who he had never seen before. He watched as Antonio passed a joint to one of these nameless people, and then looked up, eyes finally landing on Matthew.

He squinted up at him from his seat on a ratty-looking couch. “Alfred? Is that you?”

“Oh, uh,” Matthew stuttered, “N-no. I’m his brother, Matthew. We met on the Fourth of July….”

“Oh!” he said, smiling kindly, “Of course. I’m sorry, Matthew.”

Lovino groaned, “Great. Just what we need; another Alfred.”

“Be nice, Lovi. Please.”

Matthew swallowed. He was starting to feel very stupid. “Well, I, uh, I just wanted to say that I saw you play, and I thought you were really good. I really enjoyed it.”

Antonio blinked up at him for a second, and then grinned. “Thank you, Matthew. That is very kind of you.”

“Aaaw,” said a woman who was seated to the far right of the small room, “That’s so cute. Toni’s got a groupie!”

Matthew felt like he was going to throw up. He wondered why Alfred hadn’t come back from the bathroom yet. “Um, well, I guess I’ll go now,” he said, voice dropping to an almost unintelligible register of quietness.

But Antonio shook his head, “No, no, stay! Don’t let them bother you. Please, come and sit with us.”

Matthew considered his options. It would be rude to refuse Antonio’s offer, and besides, wasn’t he the one who had just been having revelations about living his life to the fullest? And Alfred still hadn’t come back yet….

“Um, okay,” he decided, “Thanks.”

Lovino groaned again, but Antonio smiled, shifting a little on the couch to make a space for Matthew.

~

Alfred had to admit, his attention span wasn’t the greatest. Ever since he was a little kid, tasks that should have taken mere minutes had dragged out for hours, because he would always find himself occupied by more appealing stimuli, like bugs or toy trucks or comic books. It didn’t matter where he was living at the time; there would always be something to distract him, and there would always be someone to punish him for it. 

But, still, Alfred had never learned the consequences of his wandering and daydreaming, and so it had never really stopped. So it was entirely predictable that he would turn a brief visit to the restroom into a half hour long excursion. First, he was distracted by talking to a nice college student and her friends, grinning and winking at them and thoroughly enjoying himself. Then, he spent a good ten minutes arguing with the barista, who he was well acquainted with, and trying to get him to give him free pastries. This endeavor failed spectacularly, but Alfred still considered it to be time well spent.

He was barely aware that any time had passed at all when his eyes found the clock on the wall. 

“Oh, shit!” he said out loud, but no one paid him any attention. Keeping up a steady stream of expletives, Alfred all but ran towards the backroom, suddenly concerned about his brother’s health and safety.

“I lost him,” he mumbled to himself as he went, “I take him out one night, and I fucking lose him. Good job, idiot.”

When Alfred reached the door, he flung it open and dashed inside, closing it behind him. “Guys,” he said, breathing heavily, “Have you seen Matt…thew….” He trailed off as he stared in confusion at the scene in front of him. 

His brother was seated in a small space between Antonio and Lovino, his hand curled into a fist at his mouth as he let out tiny, quiet coughs. To his left, Lovino was cackling like he’d never experienced anything so amusing before in his life, and, to his right, Antonio was patting him on the back, murmuring soft, comforting words in Spanish. 

Lovino was the first to notice Alfred. “Hey, Alfred,” he gasped in between fits of laughter, “You didn’t tell us that your brother was cool! We thought he’d be like you!”  
Alfred was still gaping wordlessly when Matthew finally looked up at him, smiling widely, “Hi, Alfred!”

Alfred blinked rapidly as he slowly began to put various details together in his mind. “Uh…sorry I took so long. I kinda got distracted.”

“That’s okay,” said Matthew contentedly, throwing his arms over Lovino and Antonio’s shoulders, “Your friends are really nice!”  
Lovino laughed harder. 

Alfred tried to remain calm. “Guys,” he said slowly, bringing a hand up to run his forehead, “Please, please tell me you didn’t get my brother high. Please, just tell me you didn’t do that to me.”

Antonio stared up at Alfred with wide eyes, confused. “Um…is that bad?” he asked innocently.

“Oh, my God,” Alfred moaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, pushing his glasses up to his forehead, “I can’t believe this. Fuck. I am in so much trouble.” 

Lovino snorted, “With who, Arthur? Fucking hypocrite. The man drinks like he thinks the world is ending.”

“Yeah, well, you can tell him that for me. I’m sure he’d take it really well.”

“Hey,” Matthew said, apparently deciding that he should be a part of the conversation, “It isn’t their fault.”

Alfred gave his brother a long look. Then he sighed, “Well, it doesn’t matter whose fault it is. I’m still gonna get it.” Then he walked over to the couch, holding out a hand to help Matthew out of his seat, “Come on, dumbass. Let’s get you out of here.”

Matthew took Alfred’s hand, looking guilty. “M’sorry,” he said quietly, but Alfred shook his head, unable to find within himself the ability to be angry at his brother.

“It’s fine, Matt. We’ll figure something out.”

Alfred was relieved to get out of the dark, stuffy coffeehouse, and onto the open street. When his feet hit the pavement, he breathed in deeply. 

“It’ll be fine,” he said, more to himself than to Matthew, “We just have to get you to the apartment before Arthur and Francis get home. Then you can just use our bed, and I’ll tell them that you were too tired to go to the hotel, and they don’t have to know anything. That’ll work, right? Matthew?”

But his brother just continued to stare at him, pupils occupying an unnatural portion of his blue eyes, making them look black in the muted light.

“Right, Mattie? Come on, answer me bro.”

Matthew blinked at him slowly, “I…I thought I already did.”

Alfred groaned, grabbing his brother’s arm to encourage him to start walking, “Come on, let’s just go. God, Mattie, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Matthew replied, “I just…you said I should go out and do things. And you were right! I had a really good time tonight. It was like,” he waved his arms in the air wildly, like he was trying to communicate through sign language, “Like I left myself, and was a different person.”

Alfred stared at him. “Shit,” he said, “I guess it really is my fault then. But, when I said that you should do things, I didn’t mean you should do everything! Some things are…bad things.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “Woah. Yeah.”

Alfred couldn’t help but snicker at the look on his brother’s face. “You know, I wish I wasn’t so terrified right now. Because this is kind of hilarious.”

Matthew giggled, “Yeah.”

“I just hope that Arthur and Francis’s date is going well,” Alfred said. Then his eyes widened in horror. “Oh God. I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I think it’s kind of nice,” Matthew said, between small fits of uncontrollable giggling, “It’s like, you know…that movie. The one with two Lindsay Lohans.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, smirking, “Jesus, Matt. You are on another planet.”

“No! It’s…it’s a real movie.” He squinted in concentration, “You know. They go to Summer camp, and one of them’s English…and Arthur would be the mom, and Papa   
would be the dad, and you would be Lindsay Lohan, and I would be…the other Lindsay Lohan.”

Alfred stared, “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” Then he thought for a moment. “How could there be two of them in the same movie?”

“You know. They use computers, and stuff.”

Alfred tilted his head to the side in confusion, “They made a second Lindsay Lohan with computers?”

This was too much for Matthew, who began to laugh so aggressively that tears started to roll down his face. Unfortunately, he also stopped in the middle of the   
sidewalk, and Alfred had to forcibly grab his brother to get him moving again.

Alfred sighed. It was going to be a long walk home.

~

“They’re not going to kick me out for not wearing a ridiculous suit, are they?” Arthur asked snidely as they waited to be seated.

Francis scowled. “My suits are not ridiculous.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, arms crossed, “It’s eighty degrees outside, and humid. Your suits are absolutely ridiculous.”

“Beauty is pain, mon chére.” 

Arthur snorted as they approached the end of the line. “Table for two?” a woman in a black apron asked.

“Oui, merci,” Francis told her, flashing her a charming smile.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Arthur grumbled incredulously as they were lead to their table, “Speak English, why don’t you?”

Francis crooked an eyebrow at him, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. You see, ‘oui’ means yes, and-”

“I bloody well know what it means!” Arthur snapped, causing their hostess to look up in surprise as she was gesturing for them to take their seats. He muttered an   
apology to her, ears turning slightly pink.

“What I meant,” he clarified, once they were properly seated, “Is that it is completely unnecessary, and you know it. You just throw French words into your conversations because you think that it impresses people.”

Francis smirked from across the table. “Does it?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“Does it impress people?”

Arthur rested his face on one hand, elbow propping him up, and gazed out of the window. “Idiotic people, maybe.”

The Frenchman’s eyebrows shot up once again, “Well, thank goodness you are above all of the unintelligent masses.”

“Hmmph.” Arthur decided not to carry the conversation any farther, and settled instead for looking at anything that wasn’t Francis. To his credit, the restaurant wasn’t particularly lavish, but simple and small in the sort of way that meant they probably had excellent food. The tables were small, round, and draped with simple white tablecloths. Arthur had not been to a restaurant like this one in a very, very long time

“Do we have to sit so close to the window?” he asked, after a moment of thought.

Francis swiped his tongue over his teeth, like he was trying to make them even cleaner and brighter than they already were, “Why? Afraid that someone will see us?”

“Maybe.”

Francis sighed dramatically. “Really, Arthur, don’t you think that you are being a little paranoid? As you mentioned before, ‘It’s a big city’.

“Yes, fine. Forget I mentioned it,” Arthur mumbled, crossing his arms.

They hardly spoke a word to each other as they sipped their drinks, waiting for their orders to be taken. Arthur had expected Francis to be much more proactive about starting up a conversation, and had consequently been entirely prepared to shoot him down. But the man sitting opposite him was surprisingly silent, sipping his wine slowly and taking long, wistful looks out onto the busy street.

When the waitress cam to take their orders, Francis said to Arthur, “We came here the other day, and the roast chicken was delicious.”

Arthur said, “I’ll have the steak, please."

It seemed to take centuries for their dinners to arrive; long, quiet, uncomfortable centuries filled with the distant conversations of happy couples and brief, accidental eye contact. When the food finally came, Francis winked at the waitress before she left, and Arthur could not contain his disgust any longer.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, still not making eye contact with Francis.

“I don’t see why it should bother you,” he said nonchalantly, “After all, you have made it very clear that this is not a date….”

“It’s not about that, frog. It’s just...indecent. “

“Some people might call it ‘charming’,” Francis said as he began to eat.

“Or completely shameless.”

“Either way, it has usually worked for me. I am good with people.” Then, when Arthur snorted, “Well, not with you, obviously. But most people. It is why I have made it this far. It is why I have a job.”

Arthur scowled, “Ah, yes. And what is your job, exactly?”

Francis didn’t miss the tone of Arthur’s voice. “Is that why you do not like me?” he asked, “Because I have money? Because you think that I am a greedy, corporate monster?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, giving him a steady look that said, ‘well, aren’t you?’

Francis looked like he was about to experience a massive migraine. He rubbed softly at one of his temples before he began to speak, “I will be honest with you, Arthur. I never expected to end up where I am now. I only completed one year of university, but honestly, higher education is probably the least important thing to have in business. I was in the right place, at the right time. And I knew the right people.” When Arthur still looked unimpressed, he added, “It is not the most honorable thing in the world; I am aware of that. But it had allowed me to give Matthew everything that he has needed.” He looked straight into Arthur’s eyes, “I am sure that you, of all people, can understand that.”

Arthur bit his lip, unsure of how to respond. He pushed some of his food around on his plate before asking, voice now slightly subdued, “So, you…you never finished school? And you could still do…this?”

Francis gave Arthur a measured look, “Are you asking for yourself, or for Alfred?’

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, still not quite looking at Francis. “He’s really a smart boy,” he said earnestly, “I know he doesn’t always act like it, and he lacks anything that might be considered common sense, but…he loves science, and he’s very good with numbers, when he gets the chance. I think he could have done very well in school, if the situation had been different.”

Francis nodded, still watching Arthur meaningfully, “I believe you.” Then he drummed his long fingers on the table nervously. “Arthur…I apologize if I am being intrusive, but we never really had a chance to discuss what you mentioned the other day.”

Arthur looked up from his steak apprehensively, “About what?’

“About Alfred’s…drug problem.”

Arthur froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, before regaining his composure. “Alfred doesn’t have a drug problem,” he said shortly, “Not anymore. I don’t see why we need to discuss this.”

“Please, Arthur. I just want to help. But I need to know what has been happening with Alfred for all of these years.”

Arthur fought to keep his voice level, “It was years ago. He was young and impulsive. It’s over now.”

“But, you see, it is just that that is…often not the case,” Francis was choosing his words delicately. 

“Is this why you brought me here?” Arthur accused, “To get me to tell you about Alfred’s past?”

“I am not a spy, Arthur. You are being ridiculous. I just want to help you. Both of you.”

“And what do you know about any of this?” Arthur asked darkly, “Why are you so fucking convinced that we need your help?”

Francis was beginning to get frustrated. “Why will you not accept it? You obviously care about Alfred, and you know that I have resources that you do not-”

There was a clash, as the force of Arthur repeatedly running his knife into his plate without looking caused it to flip over as he ran into its raised edge.

“Ow! Shit,” Arthur hissed, one eye closing in pain as he cradled his left hand.

Francis’s eyes widened in concern, “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Nothing, I just, I just cut my hand a little. It’s fine.” He reached for his napkin to cover the wound, and it immediately began to stain red. “Shit….”

“You are bleeding!”

“Yes, I realize that, thank you.”

“Do you need to go to a hospital?”

Arthur rolled his eyes exasperatedly, “No, it’s fine. Just…let’s just go. Take me back to the apartment.”

Francis gave Arthur a worried look as he began to wave the waitress over. “Of course. I will get the check.”

~  
“At least let me look at it.”

“I told you, it isn’t that bad. Please just leave.”

They were in Arthur and Alfred’s kitchen, and Arthur was sitting on the counter, still clutching the bloody napkin (which the waitress had kindly allowed him to keep) to his left hand. Francis was standing beside him, holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of disinfectant that he had insisted they stop for on the way back. 

“If it isn’t that bad,” Francis said gently, “Then why are you still holding onto it like it is your newborn child?”

The two stared each other down for a moment in an intense battle of will. Arthur broke first, and sighed heavily as he began to peel the napkin from his injured hand. 

He winced as he caught his first glimpse of it since they had been at the restaurant. He had somehow managed to cut the space in between his thumb and forefinger with his steak knife, and it was still bleeding freely.

Francis held out a hand expectantly. After a long pause, Arthur held out his hand, feeling slightly woozy and disoriented from the blood loss.

Francis took Arthur’s hand gingerly, examining it carefully with long, graceful fingers. After a moment, his eyes flickered back up to meet Arthur’s.

“We have to clean it,” he announced, “You probably should have stitches.”

Arthur shook his head while Francis walked over and turned on the sink, “I don’t need stitches. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Give me your hand,” Francis sighed.

“I can do it myself.”

“Yes. But you do not have to.”

After a moment of silence, Arthur gave in for good, and allowed Francis to clean and dress his injury. 

“Fuck. Ow,” Arthur couldn’t help but swear as Francis used the disinfectant.

“I am sorry.”

Francis was just finishing wrapping Arthur’s hand with the gauze when they began to hear voices approaching the door.

“Alfred and Matthew,” Arthur said nervously.

“Ah, yes. This will be interesting to explain.”

When the door clicked open, they were greeted with the sound of nervous whispers, and quiet, uncontrollable giggling. Then Alfred appeared, and he seemed to be all but dragging his brother into the apartment.

“C’mon, Matt, we’re almost…oh, shit.”

Alfred stood wide-eyed in the doorway as he noticed Arthur and Francis at the kitchen counter.

“Uh, Hey guys,” he said nervously, trying to keep Matthew partially concealed behind him, “How was your night? We had a great time at Kiku’s....”

Matthew, his credit, was making a valiant effort to contain his laughter, but failing miserably. Arthur and Francis both narrowed their eyes simultaneously, making   
Alfred gulp in terror.

“Matthew,” Francis said calmly, “Come here.”

Matthew shook his head slightly, still hiding behind his brother.

Francis’s voice became stern, “Matthew.”

Alfred sighed, “Just do it, man. It’s over.”

Matthew walked nervously over to his Papa, wide-eyed. When his son reached him, he placed a hand on his shoulder, looked into his eyes, and sniffed the air around him slightly. Then he sighed.

“Oh, Matthew.”

Arthur had shoved himself off of the counter, and was looking between Matthew and Alfred, furious. “Are you kidding me, Alfred? This had better be some kind of joke, I swear to God-”

“It wasn’t me, I swear! It was Toni and Lovi, I left him alone with them for five seconds-”

“You were supposed to be with Kiku!”

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, but he had to work, and…I just wanted to have a little fun! I didn’t know this would happen.”

“That’s always how it is, isn’t it Alfred,” Arthur said harshly, rubbing his forehead with his good hand, “You never fucking think.”

“It isn’t his fault,” Matthew said softly, “It’s mine. Really.”

Francis met his son’s eyes sternly, “You are right. You are responsible, Matthew.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

No one spoke for a moment after that. The sounds of the city took over though the far from soundproof walls, like a forest inevitably reclaiming an ancient structure.   
The lull in conversation allowed Alfred time to notice the bandages on Arthur’s hand, and the corners of his mouth turned down in concern. “What happened to your hand?” he asked, walking over to his roommate, “Are you okay?”

Arthur shook his head distractedly, “It’s nothing.”

“Did it happen on your date?” Alfred’s voice was carefully devoid of any infection.

Arthur stared at him in shock, “What? It wasn’t…how did you….”

“We saw you through the window.”

Arthur glared at Francis, but it was more playful than his previous ones, “I told you we shouldn’t have sat near the window.”

Francis chuckled quietly.

Matthew fought back more laughter with his hand. “We thought it was like the movie with two Lindsay Lohans.”

“Did you, now?” Francis tried to remain stern, but could not help the amusement that crept into his tone.

“Well, he did,” Alfred said, “I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about.”

Matthew laughed even harder, “Yeah, and then…and then Alfred asked if they made the second one out of computers.”

Arthur smirked, “What?”

“But…it’s nice,” Matthew continued, dreamily, “Because at the end, they’re all a family. Right?”

There was silence.

Alfred shared a heavy look with Arthur, while Francis ran his fingers gently through his son’s hair.

“Uh,” Alfred said, shoving his hands into his pockets, “You should probably go to bed, Mattie. You can crash here, if you want.”

“I’m not tired.”

Alfred smirked. “Don’t listen to him,” he said, mostly to Francis, “On the way here, he kept having nervous breakdowns every time we passed a traffic light.”

“People just follow them!” Matthew squeaked, eyes widening in horror, “They…they don’t even think about it! It’s like…they’re controlling us.”

“Shh, Matt. It’s gonna be okay. Just go to bed.”

Matthew pouted, “But I’m hungry.” Then his eyes brightened hopefully. “Hey, didn’t you say something before about s’mores pizzas?”

Arthur tried to hold back his laughter. “Alfred, for the love of God, feed your poor brother.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Alfred grumbled, “Oh, and I guess you’re gonna have to sleep out here tonight. Sorry.”

“Actually,” Francis interjected, “There are two beds in our hotel room….”

Alfred spoke up before Arthur could. “Um, yeah. Not gonna happen,” he said, with an accusatory glare in Francis’s direction.

Francis ignored him, continuing to address Arthur, “There is air conditioning.”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur said resolutely.

“There is also a mini-bar.”

Arthur struggled with himself for a moment before giving in to inevitability, “Um, Alfred, you two will be okay on your own tonight, won’t you?”

Alfred gaped at him. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, come on, Alfred. Be mature; I just need a place to sleep.” 

“Yeah, ‘sleep’- hey, Matthew, what are you doing?”

Matthew, bored of the conversation, had turned to the fridge, and was pulling objects out of it, and dropping them on the floor behind him.

“I’m…hungry….”

Francis moved closer to Arthur, to whisper in his ear, “I believe that may be our cue to leave.”

Arthur couldn’t have agreed more.

Francis hailed the two of them a taxi. As soon as they were seated, and the city was flashing past with the speed that only cab drivers could ever achieve, Francis began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asked incredulously, “Your son has just been introduced to drugs.”

But Francis only chuckled harder. “Oh, mon Dieu,” he said in between hearty chuckles, “Did you hear him? What was the part about…about the traffic lights?”

Arthur stared at him like he was a particularly disturbing exhibit at a zoo. “You…you are a terrible father.”

“I know,” Francis gasped, wiping tears from his eyes, “I know, it is just…oh, Matthew….”

Arthur was now having trouble holding back his own laughter. “It was quite ridiculous,” he admitted, “What was he saying, about there being two Lindsay Lohans?”

“Oh, God, I do not know.” His laughter died down to a few, scattered chuckles, “Poor Matthew. He has never done anything like this before in his life. He will be apologizing for the next year, if I know him.”

“Hm,” Arthur looked out the window, still smirking. Francis took the chance to steal a glance at his companion, noting with satisfaction the pleasant change in the atmosphere.

~  
“Do you enjoy dancing?” Francis asked, words slightly slurred and lazy. He was spread out across his hotel bed, head on the pillows with his feet dangling off, and a bottle of wine in one hand. On the floor, with his head resting against the bed, and surrounded by small, empty bottles of liquor, was Arthur. From his position, all 

Francis could see of him was a tuft of very blond hair.

Arthur blinked confusedly at the question. “M’ not going to dance with you,” he said, as firmly as he could.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Francis clarified, “I mean, on stage. Do you like dancing, on stage.”

Arthur scrunched up his face, “Why?”

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself up there. Very…passionate.”

Arthur tried to reach up and hit him, but only succeeded in giving the bed a good thumping before letting his arm hit the ground in resignation. “Used to take classes back in England. It was mostly to upset my dad, but, I guess didn’t mind it,” he laughed slightly, just a smile and a puff of air, “Was worth the beatings I got from my brothers.”

Francis scowled, “I can understand why you left.”

“Hm.” Then, in a sudden burst of motion, Arthur forced himself up and onto Francis’s bed. He lay there on his stomach, laying across Francis’s legs, and looking sleepily into his eyes.

“D’you have anymore wine?” he breathed. Francis’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed harshly.

“It is bad to mix alcohols.”

“Do I look like…like I care….” Arthur was having some difficulty keeping his eyes more than halfway open.

Francis chuckled. “You know,” he said, “I wanted to tell you before…you speak very posh, for a stripper.”

“M’ a writer,” Arthur clarified. He was a breath away from Francis’s face, and he could still feel the alcohol burning dully in the back of his throat. When he leaned   
down, and his lips pressed in to Francis’s, it felt as if he was finally allowing gravity to take its natural course.

Francis breathed out, the air from his nose hot on Arthur’s face, and his eyelids quickly fluttered shut. From then on, Arthur could not find the resistance to stop himself from being touched. As Francis ran his hands up his shirt, tracing the bones in his spine, he was overwhelmed with a combination of excitement and comfort that prompted him to press himself closer to Francis, wanting more, sinking into him. And when their bodies began to meet each other in all of the right ways, the sensations jumped right into Arthur’s throat, sending startled, pleasured noises flying out of his mouth.

Not too far away, in a neighborhood far less pleasant than the one that Francis and Arthur were inhabiting, Alfred and Matthew were sharing a futon, and Alfred was laughing and listening patiently as Matthew talked about life, getting the crumbs of a freshly made s’mores pizza all over the blankets. The next day, Francis would wake up, and would moan about how embarrassing it was that they had only rutted against each other like teenagers, before falling asleep like old men, and Arthur would try very hard to find him annoying. Matthew, as Francis had predicted, would apologize over and over, while Alfred would shoot protective glares at Francis whenever he got the chance. 

But, for the moment, they were all content to just enjoy the fact that they had somehow managed to find one another.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry it took so long to get this up. This chapter gave me a little trouble (mostly the parts when almost all of them are together- there are so many characters to keep track of!) But, to make up for it, I'm planning on getting the next chapter out in less time than usual, because it shouldn't be too difficult to write. Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this story, and everyone who has commented and left kudos. I love you guys! (:

Soft clicking sounds arose from Francis’s fingertips as he typed meaningless words into his laptop, hating the way the light from the screen dimmed sickly in the sunlight that was streaming in from the large widows of his hotel room. With a slight yawn, he turned away, with the intent of giving his eyes a deserved break from their straining- not to look out of the window to his left, where the gleam of chrome buildings would only serve to blind him further- but towards his own bed, and the body that was currently inhabiting it.

Arthur was engulfed in the covers, curled protectively in on himself, and facing Francis as he slept. The sun was glinting off of his fair hair, hitting his face with its warmth, but doing nothing to rouse him. He was so still in his sleep that Francis could barely see the rise and fall of gentle breaths moving through his body. Francis swiveled in his chair slightly, crossing his legs and reclining back as he watched Arthur sleep.

Francis had never been very intelligent when it came to love.

Flirtation was different. Flirtation, he could control, and he was excellent at it; he had mastered the art of causing cheeks to flush enjoyably with a wink, of making someone feel valued with a smile, of getting what he wanted with the right combination of sweet words and small touches. But love- real, overbearing, overwhelming love- was Francis’s full moon. It never failed to turn him into a thoughtless creature, and he marched single-mindedly in pursuit of his goal, unaware of the path of destruction he left in his wake. For the most part, Francis’ more obsessive romantic pursuits were a blur of intoxication and very passionate and earnest bad-decision making. He was one of the few, dangerous people in the world who could fully empathize with the mindsets of both Romeo and Juliet at the age of seven; and, even worse, could still do so at the age of thirty-three.

It was for this reason that, when Francis told people that he had met his wife when he was all of nine years old, they actually believed him. 

He first met Marianne in his home town; a small, ancient farming village in Southern France, surrounded by endless, golden collines, and bathed in abundant sunshine. While people in Paris fretted about bombs and politics, Francis’s neighbors concerned themselves with simpler things, like droughts, and chickens, and drinking. And while the parents of the other young boys were teaching their sons about hunting, and farming, and sport, Francis’ mother, who had been left by her husband years before, was telling her son stories about romance.

When he first had told Marianne that he loved her, she had laughed in his face. This might have been because she was still at an age when seeing couples kissing in movies made her stick her tongue out in disgust, or it may have been because Francis had bared an unfortunate resemblance to a young girl himself until puberty. It might have been (as Francis would insist in the many years that followed) that Marianne was simply born with cold blood, cruel and heartless. 

But, whatever the reason, this incident had set the tone for the entirety of their relationship. When Francis moved to Paris with his mother, and he had sulked and pined and contemplated the cruelty of fate, Marianne had laughed, and said that Francis would soon forget about her, and would most likely woo half of the women in Paris, and at least a quarter of the men (she was wrong in her first assumption, but right in the second). When they had been reunited, and Francis proposed multiple times in grand, dramatic gestures, she had laughed, and said that only Francis would be insane enough to marry a dying woman. When they adopted Matthew, and Francis discovered an entirely new kind of love to take to painful extremes, Marianne had laughed, and taught him to relax, that their son needed room to make mistakes, to find his own way. 

It was this new, equally intense kind of love that had led Francis to Arthur’s apartment building less than a week previous. Because, this time, Francis was faced with a choice. And his decision had been already made for him, thirteen years ago, the on the first day that he had seen Matthew Williams’s shy, suspicious face. 

“What do you want?” Arthur had asked, voice sounding tired and distant over the intercom. 

“Only to talk,” Francis had replied. The words were difficult to spit out.

And Francis had tried to be diplomatic, to apply logic where there was none. Arthur had fixed himself a cup of tea, hair mussed and eyes bleary (it was nine in the 

morning; Francis had timed it so that Alfred would not be home) while Francis spoke carefully, like he was pitching a business proposal.

“It does not make sense for us, right now, I think.”

Arthur stared at him, silently.

“It is just…I have Matthew to think of, and this is far too messy….”

Arthur’s spoon clinked around in his porcelain mug.

“I am sorry that I mislead you. I was not thinking clearly.”

Arthur opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it again. He was blinking rapidly, as if someone had just taken his picture unexpectedly with the flash on.

When he finally found his voice, the only word that he could force out in his (Francis imagined) terrible heartbreak, was, “You…”

Francis hung his head in shame.

“…You complete, arrogant bastard.”

Francis’s head snapped back up. To his bewilderment, Arthur was gaping at him, upper lip slightly curled and large eyebrows knit in what could be nothing other than an expression of pure, stunned revulsion.

It was Francis’s turn to stare at Arthur in shock. “Quo…what…?” he stuttered, almost switching to his native language in his confusion.

“You,” Arthur was starting to get worked up now, and he barked a harsh laugh before he could speak again, “I can’t fucking believe this. After all of that, after you fucking threw yourself at me, you’re trying to act like you’re rejecting me.” There were tears in Arthur’s eyes. Francis was disappointed to realize that they were not tears of sadness, but from trying to contain his laughter. “You really are something, Frenchie. That was pretty slick, I’ll give you that.” He shook his head slowly in amazement, “Unbelievable.” 

“I,” Francis’s palms were beginning to sweat, “I do not understand.”

Arthur’s expression became more serious. “What did you think, Francis? That we were dating now? That I would think we were a couple, and you had to be the mature, sensible one, and let me down gently?” Arthur’s mirth was beginning to melt away, and was being replaced by incredulous anger at an alarming rate. 

Arthur’s words, combined with his merciless tone and facial expressions, caused an unpleasant ache to grow and spread inside of Francis’s chest. He said nothing. He only watched Arthur carefully, waiting for what would come next.

To his surprise, Arthur abandoned his tea on the kitchen counter, and began to close the distance between himself and Francis. 

“It’s been a very long time,” he said clearly, meeting Francis’s eyes with a level expression, “Since I…you know. Alfred tends to….frighten them off.”

It took a moment to realize that Arthur was talking about sex. Then he nodded, understanding, but still wide-eyed in surprise at how quickly the situation had been turned on him, although he supposed he should have expected it, given who it was that he was dealing with. How any times had Arthur done this to him already? How many times had he taken a step forward, shown interest, only to call Francis delusional when he addressed the situation? Francis could not shake the feeling that he was being toyed with.

“Anyway,” Arthur continued, “That was all it was. It was unfair of me, I know, but I was just-”

But Arthur didn’t get any farther than that, because Francis had noticed something small, but valuable- the tips of Arthur’s ears were flushed a hot, bright red under his translucently pale skin. And suddenly Francis understood- that if he loved like a wolf, then Arthur loved like he was approaching one, all light feet and no sudden movements. And that was all Francis needed to interrupt Arthur’s explanation with a quick, gentle peck on the lips. 

It was over as quickly as a lightning strike, and it somehow left a similar ringing in both of their ears. 

Arthur gaped at Francis incredulously, but could not gather his thoughts quickly enough to speak before the other man, who was smiling gently at him.

“Why are you doing this, Arthur?” he asked, searching the other’s face with quick, staccato movements of his eyes, “What are you so frightened of?”

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Then, he met Francis’s eyes steadily, “I’m not afraid of anything, you delusional bastard. I don’t. Like you. How long is it going to take for you to understand that? The only reason I’m trying to be civil is because I don’t have a choice.”

Francis said nothing.

“Besides,” Arthur said with a slight smirk, “Weren’t you about to break things off with me anyway? Being a responsible parent, and all that.”  
Francis reached out to touch Arthur, then. He ran the back of his fingers along the side of Arthur’s face, gently, and Arthur followed his movements warily with his eyes.

“I am not a responsible parent,” Francis said tiredly, as his hand began to slide down Arthur’s side, “I never have been.”

Arthur swallowed. “It wouldn’t mean anything.”

Francis moved his hand languidly to the small of Arthur’s back, using the leverage to press their bodies closer together, causing Arthur to gasp.

“I know,” Francis breathed in his ear, “Perhaps it is better that way.”

And they had sex, that day, early in the morning, on Arthur’s futon, with Arthur’s abandoned tea slowly losing heat on the counter. And it was incredibly easy- they were both experienced adults, after all, and it was the easiest thing in the world for the two of them to perform the ritual; for them to fall into bed together, panting, for Arthur to fumble for condoms, for Francis to be inside of Arthur, breathing in his ear, but never looking in his eyes.

It really was better this way, Francis thought, as he watched Arthur sleep among the overstuffed hotel pillows. It was easier, keeping emotions out of the mix, simply using each other to satisfy similar needs. It made more sense. 

It went against everything Francis had ever believed.

“Mmm.” The small noise came from the bed, as Arthur began showing signs of life. Francis turned his chair around quickly, pretending to go back to his work as Arthur sighed, reaching over to turn the alarm clock in his direction.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, sitting up to reveal his bare torso, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Francis’s eyes never left his laptop. “You looked like you were sleeping well,” he explained calmly, “Are you hungry? We could order room service again.”

“N-no, I…” Arthur was starting to become more panicked as he came to his senses, “I have to go! Alfred will be home soon.”

Francis sighed, finally looking at Arthur, “How long are you planning on keeping this from him, exactly?”

“I don’t see why he ever needs to find out.” Arthur had gotten out of bed, and was dashing around the room frantically, gathering items of clothing. “Shit…where are my trousers?”

“I think I saw them near the closet.”

“Right. Thanks,” Arthur said as he hurriedly began to dress himself. After throwing his t-shirt over his head, he paused, giving Francis a strange look. “Wait… does Matthew know?”

Francis raised an eyebrow, “Of course. Did you think he just happened to be out every morning from eight until twelve? And do not make that face. You should try keeping things from Matthew. It is not possible.”

Arthur grunted as he looked in the mirror on the wall, attempting to smooth out his messy hair. “As long as he doesn’t say anything to Alfred.”

“He will not.”

A few moments went by in silence, as Arthur finished putting himself together, and Francis returned to his work. When Arthur was done, he paused at the door.

“Well, I’ll be off then,” he said awkwardly. 

“Fine,” Francis replied, “Just to warn you, though, the news said it was going to be ninety-seven degrees today.”

Arthur groaned.

“You know, we have a nice little cottage up in Canada. I was thinking I might take the boys there for a few days, just to get away from the heat a little.”

Arthur nodded. “Alfred would like that, if he could get off work for a bit.”

“You could come, too,” Francis said, after a moment.

“I don’t think so,” Arthur opened the door, “Goodbye, Francis.”

“Until tomorrow,” Francis said quietly, as Arthur shut the door being him.

~  
“What’s going on up there?” Arthur asked his cab driver, irritated. “Why aren’t we moving?”

“Not sure. Looks like there was some kinda accident,” the man grunted.

“Right. Well, is there any other way we could take? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

 

“If I knew a better way, I would’ve taken you there.”

Arthur huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to assess the situation outside of his window. It didn’t look promising.

 

“Well, you can just let me off here then. I’ll walk.”

Arthur could see the taxi driver raise an eyebrow at him in the rearview mirror. “You sure? It’s pretty damn hot out there today.”

But Arthur was already opening his wallet, taking out the bills which Francis had given to him for cab fare. In his hand, the bills seemed more malicious than any inanimate object had the right to be- to Arthur, any “gift” from Francis was either an insult to his own financial situation, or an attempt to guilt him into something.

“I’ll be alright,” Arthur said distractedly, “How much do I owe you?”

When Arthur stepped out onto the sidewalk, the heat hit him in a thick, heavy wave, filling his lungs the second he took his first breath.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he gasped, “Well, this is just ridiculous.”

Arthur’s hair and clothes were already starting to feel damp, and his scalp sunburned under his fair hair, by the time he began to near his apartment building. He walked quickly, praying that Alfred wasn’t already back from work. 

Just as the end was in his grasp, however, a familiar voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks.

“Arthur? Is that you? Hi, Arthur!”

Arthur closed his eyes and breathed deeply before turning towards the source of the chipper voice. He couldn’t help but grin slightly at the sight of Feliciano- he was dressed in a printed t-shirt and a skirt, and was clinging to a small paper bag. Despite the beads of sweat trickling down his face from his hair, he was smiling sweetly at Arthur. 

“Oh, hello Feli,” he greeted, trying not to let his stress at being held up once again show too strongly in his tone, “Bit early for you to be out, isn’t it?”

Feliciano continued to smile brightly. “Yes, it is! I’m really really sleepy,” he unintentionally emphasized his statement with a large yawn before continuing, “But Ludwig is working, and I wanted to bring him a snack!” He held up the paper bag proudly.

“Ludwig…? Oh, yes. The German police officer. I take it you’re still seeing him, then?” Just then, Arthur’s stomach began making some very loud noises, reminding him forcefully that he hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast that morning. He mentally cursed Francis for letting him sleep so late.

Feliciano noticed the sounds, and giggled, “Are you hungry? You can have one of these!” He reached a hand into the bag.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Arthur protested. His stomach continued to growl. 

Feliciano extracted a sweet-looking pastry from his bag. “Oh, don’t worry! I bought extras.” He held it out to Arthur, his brown eyes sparkling, and Arthur found that he couldn’t refuse. He took the pastry, feeling its sticky glaze rub off on his fingers. 

“Thank you, Feliciano,” he said, “Now, uh…” Arthur’s stomach dropped as he checked over his shoulder, taking notice of a familiar bespectacled person making their way to the building form the opposite direction. “Fuck! I’m sorry, Feli, I have to go now.”

“Ok. See you later, Arthur!” But Arthur was already sprinting, nudging his way past anyone who slowed him down.

Unfortunately, Arthur’s legs were shorter than Alfred’s, and the two made it to the front door at precisely the same moment, even with Arthur speed-walking.

“Um,” Alfred gave Arthur a confused look when they met at the entrance, “What are you doin’ up?”

Arthur swallowed. Uncertainly, he looked down at the pastry in his hands.

“Oh,” Alfred said, brightening, “That for me?” Arthur rolled his eyes as he moved to push the door open.

“Not everything is about you, Alfred,” he said, a little harshly, “I’m a person, you know; I need to eat too.”

“Oh,” Alfred said, dejected, as they began ascending the staircase together.

Of course, it was at that moment that Arthur’s brain decided to let an unwelcome memory resurface- one of Alfred, bone-thin, pale, and unmoving on the street. Of Alfred not stirring when Arthur spoke to him, and not opening his eyes when Arthur bent down and shook him. A memory of Alfred, then a stranger, barely breathing in the cold; of a sixteen-year-old child, whose pulse was nothing but a vague flutter under Arthur’s fingertips.

The image of that day flashed into Arthur’s mind with such sudden clarity that he stopped halfway up the staircase. 

“Well, if you really want it…” he mumbled, holding the pastry out to his roommate. He was so hungry that his stomach burned, like it was trying to devour itself.

“Sweet!” Alfred exclaimed, too quickly, as if he had been expecting it from the beginning. Arthur felt a sharp, stinging flash of irritation, thinking that most decent people would have seen that the offer was merely an act of politeness, and declined. But, as things were, Arthur’s breakfast was gone by the time they reached their  
apartment.

“So,” Alfred said as they entered, popping his fingers in his mouth one by one to get the sugary glaze off, “Me and Mattie are gonna go swimming at his hotel today, you know, cuz it’s hot as balls out. You wanna come?”

Arthur made a sour face at the thought of returning to Francis’s hotel. “I’d rather not,” he said with distaste, walking over to the fridge to search for something edible that wouldn’t require preparation of any kind. “Do you even own a swimsuit?”

“Oh, yeah! Francis bought me one yesterday.” 

Arthur’s frown deepened.

“Oh, I get it,” Alfred smirked as he examined Arthur’s expression, “You don’t wanna come because you hate Francis. Right?”

Arthur gave up on the refrigerator, sighing as he turned back around to face Alfred, attempting to keep his face unreadable. “Well, I can’t say he’s my favorite person.”

Alfred snorted, “Yeah, you hate him.” He smiled, seeming oddly satisfied with that conclusion.

“We don’t have any food,” Arthur mumbled, taking out his wallet, “When do you get paid, again?”

Alfred scratched the back of his head, “Um…next week, I think?”

Arthur fished around in his wallet for singles from the night before. “Well, I’m going to go get something,” he walked to the door, “Have fun swimming.”

“Thanks, I will!” Alfred grinned, as Arthur slammed the door, a little too forcefully, behind him.

~

“Ludwig?”

“Yes?”

“What’s your job?”

Ludwig squinted down at Feliciano, the bright sunlight making it difficult to open his eyes properly. The two were standing on a street corner, near Ludwig’s police car.

Ludwig was confused by the question. “I am a police officer.”

Feliciano smiled, “I know that! I mean, what’s it like? What do you do all day?”

“Well,” Ludwig began pensively, “If they think that there might be something going on in a certain area, they send me there, and I make sure that no one is doing anything bad.”

“Oh,” Feliciano said, not sounding entirely satisfied.

For a moment, neither spoke, and the babbling of people on the streets was almost enough to make Ludwig forget the Italian, and focus on doing his job. Almost.

“Ludwig?”

Ludwig considered clasping the cross around his neck in his palm, so that it might give him strength, but refrained. “Yes, Feliciano?”

Feliciano blinked, like he was thinking very hard about something, “Who are ‘they’?”

Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, Feliciano,” he said gruffly, “You really shouldn’t be interacting with me when I am on duty. It is very distracting.”

Feliciano’s lower lip trembled, and Ludwig was horrified to see tears forming in his (boyfriend’s?) eyes. 

“B-but,” Feli choked, “You work so often. I never get to see you!”

The pitiful look on Feliciano’s face would have sent Ludwig into a clumsy and panicked stream of apologies, if it weren’t for the fact that they had been playing this game for the past few days. Ludwig enjoyed having Feliciano around- he was gentle, almost always happy, and easy to talk to. But sometimes, his constant need for attention could get a bit…exhausting.

Ludwig knit his eyebrows together, staring straight ahead instead of at Feliciano as he spoke, so as to avoid the dangerous sight of his big, brown puppy eyes. “I told you yesterday, Feli,” he said tiredly, “We can spend time together later, when I am not working.”

“But then you’re always tired, and you don’t want to do anything!” Feliciano wailed, moving to cling to Ludwig’s arm.

The policeman looked around rapidly, making sure that no one was watching them, “Feliciano…stop! I can’t-”

“Do you not like me anymore?” Feli mumbled dejectedly into Ludwig’s arm.

Ludwig sighed, feeling guilt start to roil in the pit of his stomach. He gently detached Feliciano from his sweating arm, and patted him on the shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

“Of course I like you. Ah…we can go out for dinner tonight, if you want to.”

Feliciano recovered quickly from his sulk, and immediately began jumping up and down and clapping his hands in excitement. 

“But you have to let me work now,” Ludwig qualified, “Alright?”

Feliciano beamed up at him. “Okay!” he said, going up on his tiptoes and stretching to peck Ludwig on the lips. As he pulled away, Ludwig felt his face heat up and his throat close in embarrassment. The walky-talky attached to his hip crackled, but his flustered brain couldn’t make out any discernible words from the static. He hoped that it wasn’t something too important.

Ludwig cleared his throat, trying his best to regain his authoritarian aura as he watched Feliciano blend into the crowd, looking back to smile and wave brightly as he went. Ludwig didn’t wave back- by the time his hand had begun to make the journey into the air, Feliciano was already turned in the opposite direction. Ludwig wondered where he was going, deciding that the boy was probably going to catch up on the sleep that he had been missing out on for the past few days from getting up early to see him.

Ludwig’s walky-talky crackled to life again on his hip, and he reached for it tentatively, still trying to watch Feliciano as he made his way down the street. As he brought his mouth to the speaker, he found himself wishing that he could go after him. Maybe a nice nap would have done him some good.

~

Alfred rocked back and forth, shifting his weight between his heels and the balls of his feet in his excitement. Standing on the curb next to him, trying without success to hail a cab, was Matthew. His face was flushed pink, and his long blond hair was plastered to the sides of his face with perspiration. 

Alfred wasn’t showing nearly as much distress as his brother; In fact, he was grinning broadly in his t-shirt and brand new swim trunks. “Man, I’m so excited,” he said, as Matthew once again tried to raise his hand into the air to catch a taxi’s attention, and was once again ignored. “What’s the water in hotel pools like? Is it warm?”

“Um, kinda,” Matthew said distractedly, shielding his eyes from the glare of sunlight on the cars with his hand, “Why is this so hard? I never have this problem in Ottawa.”

Alfred laughed, “You’ve gotta be more aggressive about it, bro. You look like you’re trying to swat flies or somethin’.”

Another prospective taxi approached, and Matthew stuck out his hand, slightly more rigorously than the previous times. For a moment, it looked as if he had finally been successful, but then the cab pulled over to another man on their side of the road.

Matthew made a frustrated sound, like he was screaming with his mouth shut, and balled his hands into fists. “What is wrong with these people? It’s like I’m invisible!” he whined. Then he snatched the glasses off of his face and began cleaning the sweat off of them angrily with the edge of his shirt. “I think it’s this weather. How do you live like this? I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“It isn’t usually this bad,” Alfred shrugged, “I like it better than the winter.”

Matthew shook his head, “I like the winter. It’s…I don’t know. Clean.”

Before Alfred could reply to his brother, a familiar voice made both of them turn to look down the sidewalk.

“Hey, look, if it isn’t our new friend!” Lovino said making his way towards the boys, grinning. Antonio was walking lazily next to him, his guitar slung around his shoulder as always.

“Oh, hi guys!” Matthew greeted cheerfully. But Alfred glared at them suspiciously.

“Good morning, Matthew,” Antonio said, smiling kindly, “I, ah, wanted to apologize for last time, but we didn’t run into each other. I hope we didn’t get you into too much trouble?”

Matthew shook his head. “Oh no, don’t worry about it. I had fun!”

“Yeah, I’m the one who got in trouble,” Alfred huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lovino rolled his eyes, “Yeah? What did Arthur do, cook for you?”

“Hey,” Antonio interjected, laughing, “I’ve known Arthur for a long time. That is nothing to joke about.”

“Ha. Yeah,” Alfred agreed, mood brightening at the chance to make fun of his roommate. Then his expression became thoughtful. “He’s been acting really weird lately.” 

Matthew suddenly seemed to choke on his own saliva. “What? Really? No, I…I don’t think so.” 

The other three all gave Matthew confused looks. “Well, you don’t really know him that well, Matt.” Alfred said.

Matthew’s eyes darted nervously between Lovino, Antonio, and Matthew. “Oh, right,” he said nervously, wringing his sweating hands, “I just…um, how is he acting weird?”

Alfred continued to watch his brother like he had just started speaking Latin. “He’s just been a little off, I guess,” he shrugged, “And he’s a little less angry than usual.”

“Maybe he got laid,” Lovino snorted, “It’d be about goddamn time.” Then a man walking down the sidewalk clipped Lovino’s shoulder, causing him to stumble. “Hey!  
Watch where you’re going, asshole!” he shouted after him.

Matthew took the opportunity to change the subject. “Alfred and me were just heading over to my hotel to go for a swim,” he told Lovino and Antonio, still shifting his weight from foot to foot, “Uh, you could come too, if you wanted.”

Antonio and Lovino both looked surprised by the offer, but then they both smiled excitedly. Alfred, meanwhile, gave his brother a hard punch on the shoulder. “Don’t invite them!” he scolded, “They’ll mess everything up.”

“You heard him, Alfred,” Lovio said smugly, “We’re invited.”

Alfred groaned. Then, he was struck with an idea, and he grinned conspiratorially. “Hey, Mattie, can I see your phone for a sec? I, uh, I need to tell Arthur something.”

Matthew looked suspicious, but reluctantly reached into his pocket and handed his cell phone to his twin. He attempted to snatch it back when he saw that Alfred was struggling to hold back laughter as he dialed the number, but was unsuccessful, as Alfred was strong enough to hold his brother back with one arm. 

There was a pause in activity as Alfred waited for the phone to be answered, still fighting to keep Matthew at arm’s length. Then he grinned broadly.

“What’s up, Michelle?” he said brightly, “Hey, you like swimming, right?”

Matthew buried his face in his sweating hands.

~

Matthew was starting to realize that he hadn’t really thought very much about any of this. As they finally found themselves standing outside of his upper East Side hotel (‘they’ now consisting of himself, Alfred, Lovino, Antonio, and Michelle), he came to the unpleasant conclusion that smuggling four non-guests into the pool room was probably not going to go over very well with the hotel staff- especially if he didn’t have his dad around to schmooze and buy his way out of any possible repercussions.

Matthew hesitated outside of the rotating door with increasing levels of dread. Since when had he started getting himself into so much trouble? He felt like he had become a different person since he had been in New York.

“Uh, Matt?” Alfred said next to him, “Not to rush you or anything, but I’m pretty sure our guts are starting to melt out here.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, it’s just...” he rubbed the back of his neck, “You guys aren’t really supposed to use hotel facilities, so I’m just trying to think of a way that we can go in without being noticed.”

Standing behind the brothers with Antonio and Lovino, Michelle crossed her arms accusatorily. She was wearing a blue one-piece swimsuit and shorts, and had a very professional-looking sports bag slung over her shoulder. Matthew was trying very hard not to look at her. “You guys didn’t force him into this, did you?” she scolded.

Alfred looked insulted. “What? No! It was his idea in the first place!”

Michelle looked unconvinced. “No, he’s right,” Matthew said, “It was my idea.”

“Don’t worry, Matthew,” Antonio reassured him, “All you have to do is go in and distract the people at the front desk. We’ll take care of everything else.”

Matthew was skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Of course! You just go in there and talk. We will sneak in.”

The others all agreed. And so Matthew, with one last nervous look behind him at his companions, took a deep breath and pushed his way through the revolving glass door, immediately taking in the refreshing breeze and smell of air conditioning.

The entrance hall seemed much more daunting than it had any other time it had greeted him. It wasn’t an enormous place, but it was very elegant, with red carpeting, plush velvet furniture, and a golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was all of the things that his father would look for in a hotel: attractiveness, class, and luxury. While Matthew himself preferred their more rustic cabin out among the pine trees, he supposed that few people in the world would disagree with his papa’s sense of taste. 

To Matthew’s left, two receptionists waited at a long desk. He was relieved to see that a large family was in the process of checking in with the first receptionist. As he approached the front desk, one of the children, a little girl who was clinging to her mother’s leg, watched him with dark, serious eyes. He gave her a little wave, and she ducked quickly behind her mother.

Matthew swallowed dryly as he stepped up to the desk, and the unoccupied receptionist raised her eyes from her computer to greet him.

“Hello,” she said kindly, “How may I help you?”

“Um….” Matthew fidgeted, suddenly becoming acutely aware of how disheveled he must look. As he floundered for words, he felt as if he could feel every individual drop of sweat on his body. “My name is Matthew Bonnefoy. I’m staying in room 104.”

The woman continued to watch him, obviously expecting him to continue. “Is there a problem with your room, sir?” she asked when he said nothing. Just then, Matthew could hear the sounds of frantic whispering from the lobby behind him, followed by a harsh “Shhh!” sound. It took all of his willpower not to turn around.

“Well, uh, no. Not really. It’s just,” There was another sound from behind, and the receptionist’s eyes started to wander beyond Matthew. Panicking, he continued, “It’s  
just that I wanted to ask you a question. About…the towels.” To his relief, the woman’s attention shifted quickly back to him.

“The towels?”

“Um, yes. I was just wondering, are they…cruelty free?”

This time, Matthew could swear he could hear muted, breathy laughter behind his back. At least, he noted, they seemed to be coming from near the end of the lobby, where a sign with the word ‘pool’ pointed to a carpeted hallway to the right.

The receptionist was staring at Matthew with her eyebrows raised. His cheeks burned in embarrassment, but he knew that he couldn’t go back on his story now.

“Y-yeah. I just. I’m just really concerned about animal testing.” He said, somewhat desperately.

The woman continued to stare at him. “Well I…I don’t know. Would you like me to call someone?”

Matthew opened his mouth to answer, but, luckily, a strange sound from the hallway interrupted him.

“Cah-caw! Cah-caw!” 

The receptionist craned her neck, looking for the source of the sound. “What was that?” she asked, bewildered.

“Um, I dunno,” Matthew said hurriedly, “Sounded like a bird, to me. Anyway, uh, I have to go. Thanks for your help!” He gave her one last quick, small smile, before practically jogging over to the end of the hallway. Sure enough, his four illegal companions were sitting against the wall, where they were less likely to be seen. The second they noticed Matthew, they exploded into fits of poorly stifled laughter.

Michelle was politely trying to hide her mirth behind her hand, but failing miserably. “Cruelty free towels?” she asked, smirking up at Matthew from her place on the floor.

Matthew felt his face flush with heat. “It was the first thing I could think of,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“It was fucking great!” Alfred gasped, practically rolling around on the floor in amusement. 

Matthew looked back over his shoulder resentfully. “I should have given that woman a tip or something. I feel bad for wasting her time.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lovino said dismissively, “Now, are we gonna go find this fancy fucking pool or not? I’m still sweating out my balls.” 

“Um, yeah,” Matthew pointed down the corridor, “It’s right over there. I just need to go back to my room and get changed.”

“I wanna come!” Alfred piped up immediately, jumping to his feet, “I still haven’t gotten to see your fancy hotel room.” 

“Okay,” Matthew agreed, still looking troubled, “How did you guys get in, anyway?”

“We hid behind the plants,” Alfred stated proudly.

Matthew couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the mental image. When he accidentally caught Michelle’s eye she laughed too, and he felt sharp, pleasant pang in the pit of his stomach.

By the time Matthew reached the door of his hotel room, he had become enlightened about the real reason that Alfred’s had wanted to tag along with him. Apparently, Alfred had been bursting at the seams for some time now with a lecture about Matthew’s recent behaviors. 

“I’m just sayin’,” Alfred said carefully as Matthew slid his key card into the slot, “You don’t have to do everything they tell you to. You should stand up for yourself more!”

Matthew glared at his brother over his shoulder as they entered the room. “I’m not helpless, Alfred,” he said, as harshly as he could without having to apologize after, 

“No one made me do anything.”

“Yeah, okay bro.”

Matthew bristled; he hated when Alfred treated him this way. Sometimes, he felt like his brother thought that he was pampered and helpless, with all the street smarts of a Disney Princess. He didn’t like being treated like a child- especially by someone as immature Alfred- but what bothered him even more was that it always served to remind Matthew that, while they had come from the same place, he and Alfred had grown up in radically different situations. It stirred in him the fear that maybe, on a deep level, Alfred resented him. The fact that their roles could have been switched at the flip of a coin was like oxygen, for Matthew; always there, but never acknowledged. He wondered if Alfred had ever even thought about it that way.

As Matthew went to his drawer to sift around for his swim trunks, Alfred poked around the room curiously, and the only sound that filled the space was the deep drone of the air conditioning. Then, after a few moments, Matthew felt the silence change. Somehow, it had become less comfortable, and more tense. The back of  
Matthew’s neck tingled, and he turned around from what he was doing to see what had changed.

Alfred was standing near one of the beds, turning a black-and-white checkered belt over in his hands, brow furrowed in what could have been confusion, or slowly mounting anger, or both. When Matthew saw the object in his brother’s hand, it took him several frozen moments to realize that the object obviously didn’t belong in the hotel room. He began to feel nauseous as he realized, too late, its implications, and the reason for the look in Alfred’s eyes.

“This…I think this is Arthur’s.” The tone of Alfred’s voice sounded almost normal. If Matthew hadn’t been able to feel the change in atmosphere, he would have thought that his brother was just striking up an idle conversation. But when Alfred’s eyes rose from the belt to meet Matthew’s, he could see that Alfred’s mind had found its way to the most obvious conclusion.

Matthew could have rescued himself. He could have told a white, life-saving lie; something simple, but believable, because Alfred would have wanted to believe it. Even in that second, his mind could think up the vague outline of a few plausible stories- but he just couldn’t force himself to bring them to fruition. Because he wanted Alfred to know. Keeping secrets from him felt wrong in a way that Matthew couldn’t describe; it was the same feeling he got when he kept secrets from his Papa. He hated the way that secrets separated him from his family. It made him feel incredibly lonely.

So he said the words that always jumped to his lips on reflex, as incriminating as they were, finding that he had no energy left to stop them.

“I…I’m really sorry, Al,” he said quietly, his guilt starting to strangle his throat with unshed tears, “I was-”

“God damn it,” Alfred yelled abruptly, throwing the belt across the room in one quick, aggressive movement. Matthew jumped in surprise as the metal buckle hit the wall with an impossibly loud crash.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Matthew babbled, starting to cry as the surprising intensity of his brother’s reaction forced the tears from his eyes. Alfred was standing frighteningly still, curling a fist into his hair, breathing heavily. After a moment of tense silence, Matthew tried to approach him, trembling.

“Alfred,” he said soothingly, reaching a hand out to his brother.

This was a mistake. As soon as Alfred registered his twin’s close proximity, he moved like lightning, grabbing Matthew by his forearm and hurling him against the nearest wall.

“Ah!” Matthew whimpered as his body made contact with the hard surface. Alfred held him there, something cold in his eyes as he glared at Matthew, frightening and unreachable. “Alfred, what is this?” Matthew couldn’t seem to stop crying, “You’re…you’re scaring me….”

“How long had this been going on?” Alfred snarled, still gripping Matthew’s arm tightly, “How long have they been fucking? How long have you been lying to me?”

“It’s only been a week, please, Alfred, we can talk about this, this isn’t like you!” Matthew felt like the world was ending, right there in his fifth floor hotel room, with the hot summer sun forcing its way in through the large windows.

Alfred released Matthew, then, with a cruel snort of laughter, turning away from his brother. “I guess Arthur was right about him, then,” he said spitefully, “All he cares about is his fucking dick.”

Matthew’s hands shook with rage at Alfred’s words. He had never wanted to hit someone before in his life. Now he felt the impulse nagging at him with insistency.  
“Don’t you dare,” he choked, “Don’t ever talk about him that way. You don’t know anything about him!”

Alfred ignored him. “But I guess Arthur isn’t any better, huh? Boy, did he have me fooled!”

There was still a dangerous edge to Alfred’s words that made Matthew uneasy, but he seemed to be coming down from the peak of his fury. This, added to his own anger, emboldened Matthew to speak words to Alfred which he had been turning over in his mind for days.

“How can you say that!” Matthew was relatively quiet, even when yelling. “After all he’s done for you? He has his own feelings, Alfred, his own needs! People don’t exist to make you happy! You have to give something back, too. You have to make sacrifices.”

When Matthew was finished, Alfred stood, for a moment unnaturally still and silent. When he turned back to face Matthew, his hands were shaking. His face looked like broken glass.

“Mattie,” he said thickly, as if he’d just remembered who he was speaking to, “Oh God. Did I hurt you?” He made no move to get closer to his brother, instead continuing to stare at him in horror, like he was afraid that Matthew would bolt if he made any sudden movements.

Matthew sighed in relief at seeing the look in Alfred’s eyes had once again become warm and readable.

“No,” he said calmly, “No, Al. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Alfred shook his head, looking lost.

“Hey,” Matthew stepped slowly towards his brother, reaching out to gently take his hand. The movement felt natural, and Matthew felt like he was bringing them back together, bridging the gap that had formed in the past minutes. He spoke soothingly. “It really is fine. I shouldn’t have lied to you. Papa said that I didn’t have to, but…I was afraid of you finding out.” He met Alfred’s eyes strongly, then, his gaze unwavering, “You know that neither of them would do anything to hurt us, right?” 

A second later, Alfred nodded his head reluctantly. 

“Papa’s been alone for a long time. He needs someone.”

Alfred said nothing.

“I think they might be good for each other.”

Alfred swallowed hard. “Arthur ain’t good with anybody,” he said, smiling slightly.

Matthew laughed a little. “Well, I guess we’ll see.” He then went back to pick his forgotten swimming trunks off of the floor, “Now, I think it’s time we finally went swimming, eh?”

Alfred nodded, but still looked shaken. As he got dressed, Matthew did his best to try and forget the feeling of fear he had experienced just minutes earlier. He told himself firmly that he should not ever be afraid of his brother. 

Because he needed to be there for him.

~  
By the time Alfred and Matthew got back downstairs to the pool room, Antonio, Lovino, and Michelle were all already in the water, their shouts and laughter reverberating in the large space. If there had been any other guests in the pool, then they had all been chased out, probably because Antonio and Lovino did not own swimsuits, and were enjoying the cool water in their underwear. 

“The fuck took you so long?” Lovino spat from his position in the shallow end, lounging with his back to the edge. Not far away, Antonio was happily doing lazy backstrokes, while Michelle, by contrast, was in the middle of an impressive freestyle lap.

“Oh, I, uh…I couldn’t find my swim trunks.” Matthew lied, giving his brother a sideways glance.

Alfred just nodded, feeling uncharacteristically incapable of speech. His fight with Matthew had left him feeling drained and confused. How could Arthur have kept something so important from him? Was Matthew right about him being selfish? He was still trembling slightly with the aftershocks of his irrational anger. How could he have attacked Matthew?

“Hey, Alfred!” Michelle’s voice rang out from the pool, bringing Alfred back to the present moment. “You up for a race?”

Alfred tried to shake a smile onto his face. “You know it!” he said confidently, getting a running start before hurling his body into the water. 

In the end, Alfred was beaten spectacularly, which was unsurprising. While Michelle’s strokes were precise and elegant, with no movement made without a specific purpose, Alfred’s swimming style could only be called a clumsy bastardization of a doggy paddle.

When Michelle finished a good few laps ahead of Alfred, Matthew, who was just starting to make his way into the water, clapped enthusiastically. 

“Wow,” he said, beaming at her, “You’re a really good swimmer!”

Michelle bit her bottom lip slightly, looking embarrassed, but pleased. “Thanks, Matthew. I used to be on the swim team in high school.”

“Oh, really? Th-that’s really cool. I mean…you’re good at so many things!”

Meanwhile, Antonio and Lovino had retreated to the small round hot tub off to the side, from which Lovino could be heard making dramatic retching sounds.

Antonio, however, ignored Michelle and Matthew, preferring to cheer Alfred on gently as he continued to swim. “Oh, come on Alfred, you can do it! Just a little bit more.”

“Fu…fuck you,” Alfred panted, as he struggled to reach the end. “Wow. Swimming is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” 

Michelle laughed, not unkindly, “You just need to learn the right way. If you move too much, you’ll get tired really quickly.” Then she glanced at Matthew. “We can teach you, if you want.”

“W-we?” Matthew stuttered. It was Alfred’s turn to laugh, although he still was struggling to keep the troubled look from his eyes.

“Yeah, sure! Sounds awesome.”

Alfred felt a little embarrassed that his brother and his friend had to teach him the right way to swim, but both Michelle and Matthew were so understanding and patient that he soon forgot to feel bashful. After less than a half an hour, his technique had at least somewhat improved, and he was already starting to get bored with the activity. Apparently, so were Michelle and Matthew, who had at some point devolved into an intense, squealing splash-fight with each other.

While they were distracted, Antonio and Lovino, having reentered the pool, drifted over to Alfred.

“So, Alfred,” Antonio said slyly, over the sounds of screams and upset water, “Lovino and were feeling a little bad about getting Matthew into trouble. Right, Lovi?”

Lovino scrunched up his face in disgust. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled, not looking at Alfred. 

“We were thinking that we would do something nice for him, to say sorry,” Antonio continued, “Do you have any ideas?” 

Alfred stared at his friends in surprise. Then, looking over at his brother, a sudden thought came into his head. “You know what?” he said, “I think kinda do.”

~  
“What is going on, Alfred?”

“Don’t worry about it, Matt. Just let your big brother take care of everything.” Alfred continued to rummage through Matthew’s drawers, frowning discontentedly. Outside, the sun was fading, and a mild twilight was settling over the city, slowly bringing it further to life. “Jeez. Are you sure you don’t have any less dorky clothes?” 

“Hey!” Matthew said indignantly, “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.” Then he frowned thoughtfully, “Also, I’m pretty sure that I was born first.”

Alfred snorted, still picking things out and throwing them on the floor with dramatized disgust. “What? How could you possibly know that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling,” Matthew shrugged.

“You’re so full of shit.” Alfred carefully examined a red and black plaid shirt, before nodding and tossing it to his brother. “Put that on. And don’t button it all the way up to your chin like a loser,” he instructed.

Matthew shot him the nastiest glare he could strive for, but obeyed, quickly removing his t-shirt. “Are you going to tell me what this is for?” he griped as he threw the plaid shirt over his shoulders.

“Nope,” Alfred said, grinning. “Now, hurry up. You don’t want to be late, do ya?”

“Late for what?” Matthew cried desperately, looking like he was about to pull out his own hair. Which wouldn’t have made Alfred happy- he had just spent a decent fifteen minutes attempting to make it lay down relatively flat. As it was, Alfred merely laughed at his brother’s bewilderment as he gestured to the door, and Matthew suspiciously followed his lead.

When they arrived at Alfred’s building, Matthew could only stare in helpless confusion. “Is this some kind of prank?” he asked warily.

“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” Alfred just couldn’t wipe the grin from his face; he was feeling very proud of his recent accomplishments. “But you have to go up to the roof to find out.”

Matthew looked his brother up and down with increasing suspicion. “Are you…planning on murdering me?”

Alfred rolled his eyes, “Will you just go, already?”

As Matthew ascended the stairs, Alfred went with him until they reached his and Arthur’s floor, at which point he politely bowed out, leaving Matthew to carry out the rest of the journey alone. When he finally reached the end, emerging back out into the rapidly cooling air, his throat was dry with nervous anticipation. 

He was surprised to be greeted by Antonio almost immediately. He smiled kindly at Matthew as he stepped cautiously out onto the roof.

“Ah, good evening, sir!” he welcomed Matthew, “If you would allow me to show you to your table, you will be happy to see that your lovely date is waiting for you.”

“My…” Matthew looked away from Antonio, and suddenly understood what his surprise was.

In the middle of the roof, a table was set up- Matthew couldn’t help but wonder where they had gotten it- with a white sheet slung over it as a table cloth, a full dining set consisting of mismatched plates and cutlery, and a candle in the center which created an ambient light in the rapidly darkening space. But the most alarming element of the setup was the fact that there, sitting at the table, wearing a cute white summer dress and smiling sheepishly, was Michelle.

Matthew’s mind probably would’ve been thinking of at least a dozen ways to murder Alfred, if it hadn’t been so busy becoming a useless vacuum between his ears. 

Antonio led him over to the table, pulling out his chair for him as he sat down numbly. Michelle looked at Matthew guiltily.

“I didn’t plan this,” she said quietly, as Antonio retreated, “I swear. They just…they said that you…” Michelle wasn’t meeting his eyes, and was fidgeting with the edge of the makeshift tablecloth anxiously. “I’m so sorry, Matthew. You can go, if you want.”

Matthew stared at her. “Wh-what?” he stuttered, panicking, “N-no! Of course not. This is…this is fine.”

From off to the side, quiet music began to drift over to them, as Antonio began to softly strum his guitar. Michelle buried her face in her hands, groaning in mortification. Then she swiveled in her seat to face Antonio.

“Are you kidding me, Toni?” she asked, a pleading, desperate tone straining her words.

Antonio merely shrugged nonchalantly, continuing to play his soft tune.

Matthew stifled a laugh, even as his face burned at the intimate situation. Michelle just sighed, exasperated. “I can’t believe they did this to me. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” Matthew said, shaking his head slightly.

A bit of an awkward silence followed, as Matthew shifted around in his brain for something more to say, and Michelle visibly struggled not to meet his eyes. From below, a siren screeched, and cars honked. The candle between them flickered in a gentle breeze.

Luckily, before the silence could last for too long, Alfred himself emerged onto the roof. Over his shorts and t-shirt, he was wearing a black apron that was so small it barely tied around his waist, and a white collar around his neck. When Matthew saw him, he prepared himself to give him a talking to- but, to his surprise, Michelle burst into a sudden fit of laughter.

“Hello, uh, sir and madam,” Alfred said when he reached their table, ignoring Michelle’s laughter entirely, “My name is Alfred, and I will be your server this evening.”

“Oh my god,” Michelle gasped, “Alfred, are you wearing Arthur’s stripper clothes?”

Matthew choked, placing a hand over his own mouth in horror. Alfred, however, frowned at her. “I’m sorry miss, but I don’t know what you could be talking about. Now,” Alfred pulled a plastic bottle of water out from behind his back, and began pouring it into their mismatched glasses, “What would you two like for dinner tonight? I must say, I would strongly recommend the pasta.”

Matthew raised his eyebrows, smirking, “Is pasta the only option?” 

Alfred momentarily broke character to glare pointedly at his brother. “Okay, okay,” Matthew corrected, “Pasta sounds great.”

Michelle nodded, still apparently unable to speak. Her eyes were watering with the effort of holding back her amusement. 

“Awesome!” Alfred exclaimed, then cleared his throat, remembering himself, “I mean, uh, excellent choice. I’ll bring it out as soon as possible, but, as you can see, we’re very busy tonight.” He gestured around the empty roof. “Until then, enjoy your date!” He winked at them, seeming very satisfied with himself as he went back down into the building.

As soon as he was gone, both Michelle and Matthew erupted in the laughter they’d been holding back. 

“I don’t think you realized what you were getting into when you came to New York, Matthew,” Michelle snickered. 

Matthew shrugged, still smiling as he settled down, “I don’t know. I kind of like it.” 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Michelle said, “I remember, when I first met Arthur, he….”

~

Alfred pushed open the door to his apartment, groaning when he felt how hot and stuffy it was compared to the air outside. At the stove, Lovino was sweating as he worked on Michelle and Matthew’s dinner. Francis was next to him, giving obviously unwelcome pointers.

“I think that, if you add just a pinch of salt before you-”

“Just shut up and let me cook, dammit,” Lovino snapped, moving to the counter to chop tomatoes with vicious enthusiasm.

As soon as Francis saw Alfred enter the apartment, he gave up harassing Lovino in favor of running over to question him. “How is it going?” he asked, a somewhat crazed look in his eyes, “Are they getting along? Is Matthew talking to her? Oh, this is so exciting!”

Alfred pushed past him, finding that he didn’t even want to look at Francis for the time being. “They laughed at me,” he said moodily, going to the living area to plop down among their various pillows. 

From his spot near the window, Arthur looked at his roommate dully. “Of course they did,” he muttered, “You look ridiculous.”

Alfred buried his face in the nearest pillow, voice coming out muffled as he spoke, “Shut up. I hate you.”

“Oh?” Arthur asked, raising a thick eyebrow at Alfred.

“Yeah.”

Arthur sighed, turning away to look out onto the street below. He wasn’t feeling particularly well- he hadn’t had much to eat that day, it was hot, and there were far too many people in his small apartment. He wanted to shout at Alfred for ruining his night off with one of his ridiculous plans, but he just couldn’t seem to muster the energy. 

He turned his head to watch Francis as he darted around, blue eyes alight with excitement at his son’s newfound romantic prospects, trying to help in any way possible. His hair was tied up in a ponytail in the heat. It made him look more masculine, somehow. Arthur suddenly felt a wave of nausea overtake him. His hands were sweating.

“I could make dessert,” Francis was saying, hovering around Lovino like a fly around decaying fruit, “I make a very good crème brulée .”

“Do I look like a have a fucking blowtorch, idiot?” Lovino spat.

“That stove is defective, anyway,” Arthur piped up unenthusiastically from across the room.

“The stove is fine,” Lovino countered easily, “You’re the one who’s defective.” 

Francis laughed, but stopped when he saw the look on Arthur’s face. Arthur sighed, standing up wearily. “I need some air,” he muttered, heading for the door.

When Arthur stepped outside of the building, he leaned against the bricks and pulled out a cigarette, letting out a relieved sigh. Even though there were still people around him, he felt more at peace- none of them knew him, none of them would speak to him, or even meet his eyes as they hurried past. 

Of course, his minutes of tranquility were numbered, and after only a short time the last person he wanted to see stepped out of the door.

“The food is finished,” Francis said cautiously, seeming frightened that he would set Arthur off, “I had Lovino save some for you.” Then he looked at Arthur closely, worry evident I his eyes. “You do not look well. When is the last time you’ve eaten?”

Arthur groaned, unable to fend off the sudden wave of emotion he felt at Francis’s thoughtfulness. “Stop it,” he choked.

Francis frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Just…stop it. Stop this. All of it.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Francis asked seriously, “Matthew is an adult. He does not need me here anymore. If you want for me to go back to Canada, I will.”

“God, no, I…I don’t know,” Arthur said miserably, throwing his cigarette onto the ground and putting it out with his foot. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“That is not necessarily a bad sign,” Francis said, with a tired smile. 

Arthur shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “You know what I think?”

Francis raised an eyebrow.

“I think you need to take me somewhere where I can get drunk.”

Francis sighed. “Fine. But come back up and eat first. You look like you are about to fall over.”

There wasn’t much pasta left after it was taken up to Michelle and Matthew, and Arthur felt a little guilty about eating what was left, but Francis insisted, telling him that they could go out after for everyone else. 

Arthur was surprised that Alfred didn’t say anything about it. In fact, when he wasn’t bounding up to the roof to wait on his guests, he sulked on the floor, uncharacteristically solemn. Arthur tried to push away his worry, telling himself that Alfred was probably just tired after a long day.

After a little while of them all stewing in the apartment together, and becoming increasingly bad-tempered, Antonio knocked and was let into the apartment.

“They were getting a little close,” he explained, “I felt like I should go.”

Francis beamed. “I have never been so proud!” he exclaimed.

Alfred, on the other hand, finally sprung up onto his feet. “It’s about time. I need to get out of here.”

“This was your idea, bastard,” Lovino reminded him. But Alfred was already gone.

Alfred crept up the stairs onto the roof as quietly as he could, wanting a chance to see the fruits of his labor before Matthew and Michelle noticed his presence. 

They weren’t kissing, as Alfred had half expected, but Antonio had been right about them being close. By then, night had fallen completely, and the two had abandoned their table for the edge of the roof, where they were gazing out at the lights of the city, speaking quietly to one another and smiling like idiots.

Alfred almost hesitated to ruin the moment, but a loud roar from his stomach took away the last of his sympathy. He cleared his throat loudly, and they both turned, looking embarrassed when they realized he was watching them.

“Well, we’re going somewhere where we can eat, and Arthur can drink,” he said, his voice sounding loud and disruptive in his ears, “You guys can come, or, you know…keep doin’ what you’re doin’….”

They both sprung to their feet uncomfortably at the sly tone of Alfred’s voice. “No, we’ll go,” Matthew said, looking to Michelle for conformation. She nodded, rubbing her forearm awkwardly.

“Yeah, sure. Sounds fun.”

“Well alrighty then,” Alfred said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than he was. He had been doing much more serious thinking that day than he was used to. It was making him feel exhausted.

The group went to their most usual hangout, a small café around the corner that was always packed, but still somehow unknown. The entire way there, Michelle and  
Matthew held hands, and Francis stuck on them like glue, looking like he was about to start snapping photos at any second. 

Both Alfred and Arthur remained quiet, not speaking even when they unintentionally fell into step with each other.

When they entered the café, which was lit dimly, and scattered haphazardly with square wooden tables, they were seated by a host (who gave them a dirty look) and were greeted immediately by a familiar voice. 

“Wow, this is such a coincidence!” Feliciano said, a look of genuine amazement on his face. Sitting across from him, looking very much like ‘the more the merrier’ wasn’t a part of his life’s philosophy, was Ludwig. 

“Not really,” Lovino snapped at his brother, giving Ludwig a dirty look, “It’s the only cheap place around where we haven’t been banned.”

Feliciano thought about that for a moment. “Oh! I guess you’re right, Lovi!” He said, still smiling brightly, “Hey, why don’t you guys put your table next to ours? Then it will be like we all came together!”

Ludwig scowled. 

“Let’s just get a bunch of everything,” Antonio reasoned as they fixed their seating arrangements, “Then we can split the bill.”

Lovino shook his head. “No fucking way. Alfred will just eat everything.”

“Hey! I won’t.”

Eventually, after a bit of bickering, everyone managed to place their orders, and receive drinks. However, the noise level emanating from their table did the opposite of decrease.

“Hey, waiter!” Lovino hollered, waving a hand lazily to catch the poor boy’s attention, “Another round over here!”

The waiter nodded, looking like he wanted to get away from the rowdy group as quickly as possible, but was stopped by Alfred, who looked up at him with a look of grave concern on his face.

“Um, excuse me, didn’t the burger used to come with more fries? I mean I could be wrong, but I think- ow! What was that for?” From across the table, Lovino had chucked one of his ice cubes directly at Alfred’s head. 

“There aren’t any less fries, idiot,” he said derisively, “I just saw you eat half of them as soon as he put them on the table.”

Alfred pouted. “Then why am I still hungry?” he whined.

“Because you’re a fatass.”

“I am not!”

“Would you two shut up?” Arthur said, rubbing his temples with his forefingers, “You’re going to get us kicked out again.”

“Maybe you should be the waiter, Alfred,” Michelle suggested with a laugh, obviously trying to diffuse some of the tension.

Alfred seemed to like that idea, and drew himself up proudly in his seat. “I was a pretty awesome waiter, huh?”

Lovino rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be drunk by now, anyway?” he asked Arthur.

Arthur sighed. For whatever reason, his heart just wasn’t in it tonight; even enough to put any effort into becoming intoxicated. He sipped his drink moderately as his friends all had a good time around him- Alfred was gorging himself, Antonio and Lovino were steadily becoming louder and more riotous as the evening progressed, 

Feliciano was trying to talk to his flustered-looking date, and Michelle and Matthew were seated comfortably next to each other, obviously holding hands under the table.

The only person who seemed to feel as subdued as Arthur was Francis. The oldest of their group was seated next to Arthur, and while he spoke to the others, and occasionally smiled at their antics, he remained mostly quiet, giving Arthur the occasional sidelong glance that Arthur didn’t have the energy to try and understand.

“I should totally have a T.V. show, or somethin’,” Alfred was saying, when Arthur tuned back in to the conversation. “It could be called, like, ‘The Matchmaker’, and I would use my romantic knowledge to help people find their soul mates.”

“What the fuck do you know about romance, Alfred?” Lovino asked skeptically.

“Lots of things! I-” But Alfred stopped mid-sentence, causing Arthur to look up from his drink in confusion to see why. Alfred was staring in the direction of the door, eyes wide with what looked like complete shock. Arthur turned around to see what he was looking at, and saw that a woman had just entered, a with short hair, and…well, incredibly large breasts.

“Alfred,” Arthur hissed, leaning over the table, “Don’t stare like that! Christ, I thought you had at least some sense…”

But apparently Alfred did not, because not only did he continue to stare at the woman, but he rose from his chair as she was being shown to her table. 

“Kat?” he said, still looking dumbstruck. Around their conjoined tables, everyone had gone silent. Lovino raised his eyebows.

“Wait, you know this chick?” he marveled.

At the mention of her name, the woman finally noticed Alfred. She looked over at them in surprise, before her face broke out into a warm smile.

“Alfred! Is that you?” she exclaimed, English heavily accented, as she made her way over to Alfred. 

When she reached him, she surprised everyone even further by throwing her arms around Alfred in what looked like a bone-crushing embrace. “Oh, look at you!” she said, sounding remarkably like a mother, “You are so big! After we left, I was so worried….”

“Y-yeah,” Alfred stuttered as he pulled out of the hug, “God, Kat, what’re you doing here? Is…is Natalia…?”

The woman’s eyes became sad. “I left them, Alfred. The last time I saw either of them was in Chicago. I decided I could not live that way anymore.” Then her smile returned, “Things have been going very well! That is my boyfriend.” She gestured to the man she had entered with, who was sitting at a table, watching the scene from a distance.

Alfred smiled kindly at her. “Man, that’s great, Katyusha. I’m happy for ya.”

“Well, it seems like you have been doing well also,” Katyusha said, pointedly looking around at Alfred’s companions. Alfred seemed to remember them for the first time since she had walked into the café. 

“Oh, right! Uh, these are my friends. Guys, this is Katyusha. She’s a friend from…you know. A few years ago.”

Michelle, Lovino, Feliciano , and Antonio nodded understandingly, greeting Katyusha with strained, polite smiles. Matthew and Francis exchanged looks of wary confusion. Arthur, however, scowled in blatant disapproval. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, giving Alfred a meaningful look.

“That’s Arthur. He’s, uh…well, we live together,” Alfred explained somewhat poorly. “Oh! And this,” he continued, placing a hand on Matthew’s shoulder, “Is my brother Mattie!”

Katyusha stared at Matthew, surprise blossoming on her face as she recognized the physical similarities between the two. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said sheepishly. 

“Hello, Matthew! Well, Alfred, you really have been busy.” 

Alfred wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Well, you should probably get back to your boyfriend.”

“You are probably right,” Katyusha agreed, leaning in for one last, brief hug, “It was wonderful to see you, Alfred. Please take care of yourself, yes?”

Alfred nodded. “Yeah…you too.”

Katyusha waved at everyone. “It was nice to meet you!” she chimed, and they all made noises of agreement as she returned to her table.

Alfred returned to his seat, not meeting the eyes of any of his friends, who remained uncharacteristically silent; they seemed to be expecting him to say something. 

When he did not deliver, Lovino was the first to speak up.

“Well, well, well,” he said slyly, leaning back in his chair, “So the skeletons finally come out of the closet. And they’re back in New York!”

Antonio opened his mouth as if to chastise Lovino, but Arthur beat him to it.

“Don’t,” he said with venom, the older man’s glare causing Lovino to shrink into his seat.

From his own spot, Matthew fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable with the tense silence that had fallen over the table. He worried about being insensitive, and about embarrassing Alfred- but he couldn’t stand the feeling that everyone seemed to know something that he didn’t. So he made the rare decision to speak up.

“Um…Alfred?” he asked gently, catching his brother’s eye, “Who was that?”

Alfred scratched his head nervously. “That was just Kat. She’s Ivan’s sister. He was my, uh…you know. My dealer.”

“I will pretend I did not hear that,” a gruff voice reminded them that Ludwig was still with them. He had been very quiet until that point, mainly conversing with Feliciano. When he spoke, everyone looked at him in alarm, but he seemed more tired than about to make an arrest. 

Francis was wearing a similar expression as the police officer. “I will, as well,” he said faintly.

“We shouldn’t talk about any more sad things,” Feliciano said placing a hand on Ludwig’s arm, “Everything’s good now! So we can just have fun.”

However, no one seemed to be in the mood for having fun after the encounter with Katyusha. It took several minutes for everyone to begin talking again, and even then the atmosphere struggled to break free from the dark tone that had settled over all of them.

It didn’t take long for Arthur, unable to handle the strained mood, to excuse himself for a smoke. 

Francis sighed as he watched Arthur go. He considered following him, but it was impossible to know if his company would be wanted or not. Either way, he was sure it would not be welcomed- but it was astoundingly difficult for Francis to decode the Englishman’s genuine feelings. 

Francis was about to decide that it was safer not to push his luck, and to leave Arthur to stew in his bad mood alone, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He was surprised to see upon looking up that Alfred had abandoned his seat, and was now standing near Francis’s chair, looking anxious.

“Can we talk?” he said quietly, bending down so that he was at eye level with Francis. 

Confused, and with a growing feeling of foreboding, Francis nodded, and rose from his chair. He sent a brief glance towards Matthew, and saw that his son was watching them carefully, halfway through the process of tearing the wrapper from his straw into dozens of small pieces. When he caught Francis’s gaze, he smiled softly, giving his father a small, reassuring nod. 

It was beginning to get late, and the dinner crowd had already begun to slowly trickle out of the café, leaving a few of the tables unoccupied. The one that Alfred led Francis to had only two chairs, and was nestled in the most out of the way corner of the crowded dining room.

When they took their seats, Alfred looked at Francis with wide blue eyes, and Francis immediately relaxed. With the face he was making, the boy looked incredibly like Matthew. It felt strange to Francis that he was still practically a stranger. 

Alfred used his tongue to clean off his teeth, apparently thinking very hard about something. When he finally spoke, there was the slightest tremor in his voice, like he was giving a presentation at school.

“I, uh,” he started, looking down into his lap, “I mean, about…what just happened.” He looked back up at Francis, meeting his eyes, “I don’t do that kind of stuff anymore. I haven’t in a long time.”

Alfred’s words were so far from what Francis had been anticipating that he let out a relieved breath, face softening kindly as he regarded the boy across from him.

“I know that, Alfred,” he said softly, “You do not have to prove that to me.”

Alfred nodded a little, remaining serious. “I know. I just don’t want you to think I’m a bad influence on Mattie…that we shouldn’t be around each other, or anything.”

“Oh, Alfred,” Francis said, feeling his throat constrict, “I would never think that.” He chuckled slightly. “Not after all that I did to find you. I would never do anything that would separate you and Matthew.”

“Yeah…” Francis couldn’t help but notice that Alfred’s eyes flickered out the door, where Arthur was undoubtedly standing, leaning against the wall. Francis’s stomach flipped.

“I really hate it that Arthur smokes,” Alfred said suddenly, once again electing to look anywhere but at Francis, “I mean, cuz it’s really bad for him. And it stinks up the apartment.”

Francis wasn’t sure how to respond to the sudden change in topic, so he just listened cautiously as Alfred continued.

“But I don’t really nag him about it too much anymore. I guess, because works really hard, and it makes him happy. And, I mean, it’s not like he’s going to listen to me anyway, cuz he’s Arthur.” Alfred sighed heavily. “So, yeah. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, Arthur can do whatever he wants. I know…I know he doesn’t exist to make me happy.” Alfred’s eyes finally flicked back up to meet Francis’s. They seemed to be pleading with him, as if saying, ‘please don’t make me spell this out for you’. For a moment, Francis could only stare at the boy across from him, mouth open slightly as the weight of his words slowly began to sink in.

“You know.” Francis said, mouth dry.

Alfred nodded, clearing his throat loudly. “He left his belt at your hotel room. It was pretty lame of him.”

Francis’s brain was moving slowly, all of a sudden, like someone had opened it up and filled it with honey, and all of the different parts were sticking togethether.

“I am sorry we did not tell you,” Francis said, almost babbling, “It is just…neither of us really know what this is, yet, and-”

“Yeah, alright, I didn’t ask for your whole life story,” There was a bit of humor shining though Alfred’s eyes, despite his expression, which remained serious, “Just go do what ya need to do.”

Francis’s eyebrows shot up. “That is it?” he wondered, thinking that it couldn’t possibly be so easy after a week of terrifying worry.

Alfred looked up, pretending to think about it, “Uh, yup.” Then he grinned devilishly. “I mean, I could threaten you, if you want. I had a whole, really threatening speech prepared-”

“That will not be necessary,” Francis cut him off, chuckling. 

“Good. To be honest, I just don’t think I have it in me. I’m tired as hell.”

Francis nodded. “So am I. We should leave soon. But first, I-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred said, leaning casually back in his chair and crossing his arms, “Go ahead.”

Francis rose from his seat, pausing to acknowledge Alfred. “Thank you,” he said genuinely.

“I’m still not happy about it,” Alfred clarified. The look on his face told Francis that he meant it- for the time being, he was still on probation as far as Alfred was concerned. Francis decided he could live with that.

“Thank you for what you did for Matthew, as well,” he added, “I do not think that he ever would have done it on his own.”

Alfred grinned. “Now that,” he said, “Was my pleasure.”

~

Francis was nervous as he stepped out of the restaurant. Arthur was still there, leaning back against the wall, one leg drawn up so that the bottom of his foot was resting flat against the red brick. He wasn’t smoking, but watching people him by in the dimmed lighting with what Francis thought was a pensive expression.

As was his style, Francis opted for the most direct approach, striding over to Arthur quickly, before the other could react.

“You are an idiot,” he said happily in Arthur’s ear.

“Christ,” Arthur hissed, drawing away from Francis on reflex. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Francis reached out, placing his hands on Arthur’s hips as if they were dancing.

“You’re out of your bloody mind,” Arthur stated, shaking his head, “Get off of me! Someone might see-” 

But Francis cut him off with a low chuckle. Gracefully, his slim fingers slid to the front of Arthur’s jeans. Arthur stared at him, bewildered, as he tucked his thumbs into 

Arthur’s front belt loops, using them to pull him closer.

“Missing something?” Francis asked slyly, smirking down at Arthur, who looked away, face tinting pink.

“Stop it. What is this about?” he said, swiping at Francis’s hands with his own until he was able to break free.

“Alfred is a wonderful boy,” Francis said, smile becoming less sleazy, more genuine, “Against all odds. You should be proud of him.”

“Are we thinking about the same Alfred?” 

Francis continued to smile. “He knows, Arthur. I was just talking with him. He knows, because you left your damn belt in my hotel room. And he said that he is fine with it.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly in shock. “You’re lying.”

Francis shook his head. “He said something like ‘Arthur doesn’t exist to make me happy.’”

“Alright. Now I know you’re lying,” Arthur almost laughed, “You might as well put a bit of effort into it. That doesn’t sound like Alfred at all.”

But Francis ignored Arthur’s dismissal, suddenly placing both of his hands on the tops of Arthur’s arms, and meeting his eyes levelly to show his seriousness.

“Arthur,” he said slowly, “I need to know. I am telling you that the boys are no longer a problem.” He swallowed nervously, then, as he prepared himself for rejection. 

“Do you want to be with me?” he asked, trying not to look as frightened as he was.

Arthur stared at him. In any other instance, Francis would have found his vacant expression amusing, but now it only made him feel like vomiting onto the pavement. 

“I…” Arthur’s mouth was still open, moving occasionally, as if he had forgotten how to use it to form words, “I don’t know, I…please let go of me. I need to go. I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Then when will we talk about it, Arthur? You cannot just continue to run away from me.”

For a moment, Arthur continued to gape at Francis, looking like a rabbit caught in a trap. Then, to Francis’s complete surprise (and delight), Arthur tilted his head up, kissing him gently, briefly. 

“Well, shit,” a voice said, accompanying the sound of an opening door. Francis and Arthur separated quickly, Arthur’s expression turning mortified as he registered the sight of almost all of his friends, watching them with varied expressions. Lovino, who was the one who had spoken, watched them with crossed arms and a mocking smile.

“How did you all manage to come out at that exact moment?” Arthur spluttered incredulously.

Francis laughed jovially. “They were watching us from inside the door,” he clarified, motioning towards the glass door of the café. 

Arthur glared furiously at him. “I’m going to bloody murder you, Francis-” 

Francis put his arms up in surrender. “It is not my fault! How was I supposed to know that you would kiss me so nicely?”

Arthur buried his face in his hands miserably, to the amusement of everyone else.

Antonio shook his head. “Where can I find a rich boyfriend?” he wondered. Feliciano, who was clinging religiously to Ludwig’s arm, clapped his hands together in excitement.

“This is so nice!” he chimed. 

But Francis’s eyes couldn’t help but wander to Alfred. His expression was abnormally unreadable, his gaze directed across the street, away from his friends. Then, his mouth opened, and Francis thought that he was going to speak- but all that came out was a large, hearty yawn.

He took a few steps towards Arthur. “Can we go home now?” he asked quietly. Arthur breathed out, looking relieved. 

“Of course, Al.” Arthur addressed his mass of friends, “Alright, everyone, show’s over. Some people have important jobs to do in morning, you know.”

Alfred smiled tiredly. As they walked away, Matthew reached for Alfred’s hand.

“Thank you, Alfred,” he said, smiling, “For everything.”

Alfred nodded. “No problem, bro. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

And then Arthur and Alfred left them, leaving Matthew to give Francis a warning look. “You’d better not mess it up, now,” he said, not sounding entirely serious.

Francis chuckled. “I will try my best, Matthew,” he said, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulder. “Now, why don’t we go home and talk about Michelle, a bit?” This last part was whispered, as Michelle was still with the group.

Matthew buried his face in his hands, much like Arthur had minutes earlier.

And Francis grinned, thinking that the kind of embarrassed that love could produce was becoming one of his favorite expressions.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so so sorry about the long wait this time...things have been crazy, and during the few times when things weren't crazy, I was a lazy procrastinator. Also, this chapter is a bit different, and I had some trouble with it. I hope it turned out alright!
> 
> And before you read, please please read this IMPORTANT NOTE: This chapter, even though a lot of it is fluff, has some mention of child sexual abuse. It isn't graphic, but it could still definitely be triggering. Please be mindful of that, because I know it was hard for me to write about. Take care; I love you guys! (:
> 
> Also, in this word, Arthur is better at soccer than Francis. Use your imagination haha (;

Matthew wiggled his feet bare feet contentedly on the hard wood floors of their Quebec cabin, sparing a moment from stirring his herbal tea to enjoy the feeling of the slight chill of morning seeping into his toes. The cabin was quiet, the only recognizable sounds being the joyful chirping of the birds welcoming the day, and the bubbling of the coffee maker. It was still very early, and Matthew knew that his dad, Alfred, and Arthur would all still be sleeping, cocooned in their soft white sheets, oblivious to the slowly wakening world around them. But Matthew had always been an early riser, and he couldn't resist an opportunity to watch the sun gradually climb in the sky and light up the trees. 

He pushed the door to the porch open slowly, mindful of the way it creaked and groaned on its metal hinges, and stepped outside. While a long gravel road connected the cabin to the rest of the world, the front door faced the forest, and as Matthew stood alone on the porch, surrounded by evergreens and early morning mist, he could easily imagine that he was the only person in the world, living in the middle of the woods, in complete harmony with nature. He took a deep breath of fresh air, smiling slightly to himself. It felt wonderful after weeks of living in the stifling city.

The sound of the front door creaking open behind him made Matthew start, causing his tea to slosh around dangerously in its mug. When he turned around, he saw his Papa's head peeping though the crack, his long hair messier than he would ever allow anyone other than Matthew to see it, and his eyes squinting sleepily in the growing daylight.

"Oh, sorry," Matthew said quickly, almost whispering, "Did I wake you up? I tried to be quiet..."

Francis sighed as he stepped out onto the porch. "You are always quiet, mon petite," he assured his son groggily, adjusting the tie on his robe, "But I am a parent. My ears are not the same as your ears."

"Sorry," Matthew said again, sheepishly.

Francis smiled tiredly. "Don't worry. Now I can watch the sunrise," he said, his voice perhaps retaining the slightest hint of bitterness. 

Matthew nodded, turning his head to face the woods once again as they began to glow with daylight. As the peaceful silence returned, he was unable to keep a gentle smile from his face.

Francis watched his son with a small smile of his own. "You seem happy to be back home," he noted.

"Yeah," Matthew admitted. He paused to sip from his mug, before continuing, "But I guess we'll be back in the U.S. soon, eh?"

"Only if you want. You could go back to Ottawa for a little while...but I know that you wish to spend more time with Alfred before school starts." Francis gave his son a meaningful look, "And I think that we may need to proceed a little carefully about what is going to happen after that."

Matthew nodded, "I know." Then a small, devious smile crept onto his face, "Especially now, with you and Arthur...."

"Are you trying to pry?" Francis asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at the suggestive tone of Matthew's voice. "If you want, I could give you all of the details...."

"Oh, god. No. Please don't," Matthew spluttered, causing Francis to chuckle. After that, Matthew had to take several seconds to shake the thought out of his head. Then, he said earnestly, "I just want to know how it's going."

Francis shrugged, a corner of his mouth twitching involuntarily upwards, "He is pretending to be miserable, as usual."

"How do you know he's pretending?"

"I know."

"Yeah, okay," Matthew said. 

"You are being very rude to your poor Papa this morning," Francis pouted, "And after all I have done...."

Matthew struggled not to roll his eyes at his father's theatrics. "Désolé, Papa. I'm sure Arthur's happy with you. If he wasn't, why would he have agreed to come up here with us?"

"For Alfred," Francis answered immediately. When Matthew looked up, alarmed, at how quickly he had responded, Francis sighed a bit, and walked over to place a comforting hand on his son's shoulder.

"Do not worry, Matthew. Whatever happens between me and Arthur, our first priority is that it does not affect you or your brother."

"I know," Matthew said, fidgeting with the sleeves of his red hoodie, "But...I want you to be happy."

Before Matthew knew what was happening, he was surrounded by warmth, as Francis wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. 

"So cute!" he gushed, continuing to squeeze Matthew within an inch of his life, "You are too sweet, mon petite tortue!"

Even though they were alone on the porch, with nothing but the birds and the trees to see them, Matthew flushed in embarrassment. Because of their technically differing genetics, he was almost a head taller than his father- in their current position, the top of Francis's head barely made it to the tip of Matthew's nose. As Matthew spoke, he struggled to break free of Francis's grasp.

"Stop it, Papa! I'm an adult; you can't keep doing this!" he whined, finally managing to restore his freedom after several seconds of frantic wriggling. Francis laughed and ruffled Matthew's long hair.

"You will always be a little boy to me," he said, smiling warmly. 

Matthew groaned. 

"Well, if you insist," Francis said playfully, starting to walk back to the door, "But, if I am correct, adults do not need to have pancakes made for them by their fathers."

Matthew blinked. "Wait, what?" 

Francis stepped inside of the cabin, still chuckling quietly. 

"Wait, Papa!" Matthew said, hurrying to follow him, "I didn't mean it!"

~

"Just help me get everything into the trunk," Matthew told his brother as they both trudged out to the car, both of them weighed down with armfuls of bags, tents, pillows and sleeping bags. It was fast approaching eleven o'clock, and the misty morning had given way to a bright and mild day. The only clouds in the sky were white and wispy, and a pleasant gentle breeze was blowing through the woods, carrying along with it the fragrance of fresh air and pine trees.

As they placed their various items into the trunk, Alfred hummed, bouncing slightly in his excitement. Matthew could tell even from Alfred's humming that his brother was completely tone-deaf, but that did nothing to make his enthusiasm any less endearing.

"Oh, man," Alfred said, continuing to move pointlessly, needing an outlet for his energy, "I've always wanted to go camping. Like, seriously, I used to think about it all the time. This is so awesome!"

Matthew smiled, "Yeah, it's great. When I was a Beaver Scout, we used to go all the time."

Alfred snorted. "A beaver scout?" he asked.

"Um, yeah. What do you call them?" When Alfred just shook his head at him, Matthew made a frustrated sound. "Where are they? They're supposed to be bringing the cooler out!"

Alfred shook his head. "Guys!" he hollered suddenly towards the cabin, causing Matthew's eardrums to throb, "Quit makin' out and get out here! Some people wanna go camping!"

"Ew, gross..." Matthew mumbled.

"Oh. Sorry man."

A moment later, Francis and Arthur staggered out of the back door, each carrying one handle of a large plastic cooler. 

"Oh, shut up," Arthur huffed," It isn't my fault we need enough food to feed three armies."

"And it's not my fault you need to stop every five seconds to suck face," Alfred retorted.

"Please stop," Matthew begged.

"...Sorry."

Arthur shook his head as they approached car, moving to set the heavy cooler in the trunk. "I'd forgotten how irritating you are when you actually get enough sleep," he said.

"Well, you're stuck with me for the next twenty-four hours," Alfred said cheerfully, clapping Arthur on the back briskly, "Better get used to it."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at him, "Alfred, we live together. If I hadn't gotten used to it by now, I would've jumped out a window ages ago."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Piss off."

Matthew frowned seriously. "Come on, stop fighting. We're already late."

"Late for what? Nature?" Alfred wondered, snorting. Matthew glared at him.

"No, no," Francis said tiredly, moving to close the trunk, "Mon chère is right. Let's just get this over with."

"Papa!" 

"Oh, will everyone just get in the bloody car," Arthur griped.

As was his way, Alfred immediately called 'shotgun', which led to the somewhat awkward arrangement of Alfred sitting next to Francis in the driver's seat, and Matthew and Arthur sitting together in the back. It also meant that Alfred had almost total control of the radio.

"For the love of god," Arthur groaned, as rap music blared from the speakers, "Would you turn that shit off?"

"Would you pull the gigantic stick outta your ass?" Alfred said evenly, not even turning around to look at his roommate.

Francis snorted from his place in the driver's seat, as Arthur sunk slightly in his own seat with a non-subtle sound of disapproval. Rap music continued to blare form the car radio, now with Alfred attempting catch a hold of the words and yell them as loud as he could, mostly just to spite Arthur. 

Arthur stared out of his window miserably, watching as the endless rows of evergreens blurred past his vision.

"We really are in the middle of bloody nowhere, aren't we?" He sighed.

"Yeah," Matthew said, happily gazing out of his own window, "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Honestly, I'm having difficulty understanding why we would leave the cabin, that has beds, electricity, and running water, in favor of sleeping in the cold and the mud," Arthur confessed.

Francis nodded, a bit guiltily , from the driver's seat. "I can understand that."

"Whatever," Alfred said, "If you guys don't wanna come, then don't come. You're ruining our vibes."

"Don't worry," Matthew amended, trying desperately to bridge the widening divide between them, "You'll like it! I promise."

Francis and Arthur said nothing. 

After a brief moment of tense silence, the car gave a sudden lurch to the side, causing everyone to sway violently to the right. As it happened, there was a collective alarmed commotion from Matthew, Alfred, and Arthur.

"Shit!" Arthur exclaimed as the car quickly righted itself. Then he focused his attention on Francis, glaring accusatorily at the Frenchman as he continued to drive, seemingly unfazed by the near-death experience. 

"Are you trying to kill us?" Arthur snapped at Francis from the back seat, eyes wide and incredulous. In the seat next to him, Matthew had inconspicuously moved his hand to grip the left door handle for support. But, aside from that, the boy seemed relatively calm and unsurprised.

From the driver's seat, Francis huffed in a way that suggested that he thought Arthur was overreacting. "There was a squirrel," he stated plainly.

"So you decided to hurl the car into the forest?" Arthur's dry question was pointedly ignored, as Francis continued to drive with an air of apparent indifference.

Arthur shook his head, crossing his arms as he settled back into his seat. "You're a bloody horrible driver." He murmured, voice tinted with a note of satisfaction.

"There is nothing wrong with my driving," Francis snapped, his lips now forming a tight line. "Isn't that right, Matthew?" When he spoke to Matthew, he swiveled the upper half of his body around the chair to face his son, allowing the car to swerve wildly.

"Fucking hell, face the road!" Arthur yelled, while Alfred shrieked in the passenger's seat.

"Um...Maybe I should drive, Papa," Matthew suggested with a small, nervous laugh. But he sighed a little as he felt that the atmosphere in the car had suddenly shifted, and realized that his Papa had suddenly become very quiet.

"I mean," he amended gently, "Because I need to practice."

Francis huffed. "Oh yes, I am sure that is the reason," he said, and although he still sounded insulted, his voice now lacked the edge that Matthew knew indicated wounded pride. "Why don't we just find a bear in the woods, and teach it how to drive. I am sure it would be better than me." The word 'bear' was difficult for Francis, his throat strangling it a bit on the way out.

"Papa...." Matthew muttered, embarrassed and irritated by his father's theatrics. Luckily, after a moment's pause, Alfred finally decided to speak up.

"I could drive," he suggested, with deliberate casualness. 

"No!"

"Jesus Christ, no."

"Absolument pas." 

All of this was said at the same time, in the shrill, panicked voices of Matthew, Arthur, and Francis. 

"Wow," Alfred mumbled, crossing his arms and pouting in disappointment, "Okay."

After that, Matthew felt the tension in the car fade, like someone slowly releasing a rubber band. He let his shoulders relax, and breathed a sigh of relief. Because he had been the one to suggest a camping trip originally, he couldn't help but feel responsible for everyone's enjoyment. He just hoped that maybe the fresh air would calm everyone down, and that they all could stop bickering long enough to enjoy some bonding time. 

At the same time as Matthew was having these thoughts, Arthur and Alfred began arguing about music again. Matthew couldn't decide if he felt like laughing, or jumping out of the car door and fleeing into the woods.

~  
Matthew frowned at the large map posted on a billboard at the edge of the trees, beginning to realize just how long it had been since he had gone camping. 

"I think we need to take, um...this one?" he said, pointing uncertainly at a winding, purple line on the map leading to a little blob with a tiny, cartoonish depiction of a tent in the center.

Arthur frowned. "Aren't we supposed to just drive to the campsite?"

Francis looked over his shoulder at Arthur. "Well...Matthew prefers the more...rugged campsites." 

"Oh, wonderful," Arthur said.

Francis squinted, one eye closing a bit more than the other in thought. "Is that the name of the place we used to go to? It does not sound familiar...."

"Well you haven't gone camping with me since I was, like, twelve," Matthew pointed out, "Why would you remember?"

Behind him, Alfred paced, agitated. "Can't we just, you know, go into the woods and stick our tents wherever?" he asked impatiently, now kicking up little clumps of dirt as he walked. 

"No," Matthew said simply, eyes never leaving the map in front of him, "You have to pay to stay at a site."

Arthur sighed, deciding to take a seat on a large rock on the side of the road as Matthew and Francis continued to bicker over trails and campgrounds, and as Alfred continued to whine impatiently in the background. When Arthur saw a car approaching down the road, he stuck his thumb out sarcastically. But the car didn't even slow down, and the other three didn't seem to notice or appreciate Arthur's humor.

By this point, Matthew and Francis' spat had degenerated into rapid French, and wild gesticulations at the map and into the forest.

"Non, je suis sûr qu'il était ici."

"Mais non, c'est prés du lac. Tu ne te souviens pas?"

"Guys," Alfred griped, "Come on! Now I don't even know what you're saying!"

Francis and Matthew stopped bickering immediately , both turning to look at Alfred in confusion, like they hadn't realized what they had been doing. After taking a second to gather his wits, Matthew rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "It's just, we can't remember which trail to take." For a moment, Matthew frowned a little pensive frown while the gentle breeze blew his long hair into his face. Then, he turned to face the map with newfound determination.

"I think it's this one," he declared, pointing to an orange-colored path. If he was being honest with himself, it was really only a wild guess. But he had a feeling that once he started walking, he would remember where he was supposed to go. The walk should be short, and he had been a beaver scout, after all.

Francis knit his eyebrows together, appearing skeptical. "Well, if that is what you think..."

"Awesome," Alfred said, hitching his backpack and sleeping bag over his shoulder briskly. "Come on Arthur, get up! We're headin' out!"

"Oh, joy," Arthur drawled as he stood from his rock. When he made it to his feet, he gave a subtle look over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't gotten any dirt on his pants.

"Saw that," Alfred stated as Arthur caught up with the other three.

"Fuck off," Arthur muttered, giving Alfred a piercing sideways glare. Alfred shrugged, by now immune to Arthur's anger, which was considered very frightening by most who had experienced it. To   
Arthur's credit, when his anger was directed at Alfred it was more of a dulled, tired sort of anger. If he worked himself up to a full blown storm over every little thing that Alfred did to annoy him, he would probably be too exhausted to ever do anything else.

Even so, Alfred took pity on his friend, leaving him in peace in favor of walking along stride Matthew, who was leading them down the walking trail and into the sun speckled forest, to help him carry the cooler. 

"Goin' campiiing," he sang happily to himself as he walked, his enthusiasm beginning to return, and in need of an outlet, "We're going caaaamping..." 

~  
"Alfred was a complete homophobe when we met, actually," Arthur said as he ungracefully ducked under stray branches, keeping up the rear of their little group. While the day was mild, he was finding that the effort of the gentle hike was enough to cause his body heat to increase significantly, and as Arthur stared down at his feet in an attempt to keep himself from tripping, little drops of sweat cascaded down his face and off the tip of his nose, landing on the dirt path beneath him.

Meanwhile, Alfred, who was currently leading their modest expedition, was charging ahead with confidence, sparing no thought to the ground beneath him as he gazed in wonder at the sunlit forest surrounding them. At the sound of Arthur's accusation, however, he turned to give an indignant glare over his shoulder as he walked.

"No I wasn't!" he said petulantly, looking uncomfortable, "Stop telling them stuff like that, Arthur. Jeez."

"You were so," Arthur insisted through labored breaths, eyes never leaving the ground below him, "I remember the way you used to look at Tyler."

"Yeah, well, that's because Tyler sucked."

After a thoughtful pause, during which the light noises of the chirping birds mingled with the sounds of all of their breathing, Arthur frowned, wrinkling his nose distastefully.

"He did, didn't he?"

Francis couldn't help but smile a little triumphantly at hearing Arthur badmouth someone who was apparently one of his past boyfriends. Despite that, however, the oldest member of the expedition looked completely miserable- his face was flushed, and his long hair, while tied back in a ponytail, had still managed to pick up leaves and twigs that were tangling in it like flies in a beautiful blond spider web. He was also continuously surrounded by a small clouds of gnats, which he swatted at desperately, but to no avail.

"I bet it's because you spray so much sweet-smelling shit all over yourself," Arthur said, upon noticing Francis' struggle.

Francis scowled. "Well, some of us prefer that over the smell of cigarettes and stale tea," he snapped. Matthew, who was walking in front of his father, turned around enough to give Francis a look that said, 'You aren't helping your cause'. In return, Francis exhibited a series of gestures that were meant to communicate 'He started it'. Matthew remained unimpressed.

"Just put your hand over your head Papa," Matthew sighed, raising his own hand as an example, "the bugs will go to the highest point because they'll think that's where your eyes are."

Francis reluctantly did as he was told. Before he could decide if it was working or not, there was a strangled exclamation from the front of the line, as Alfred's foot hit a root, and he went tumbling to the ground, face first. Of course, as Alfred had been the one leading the group, and sharing one handle of the cooler with his brother, this caused Matthew to trip as well, and he landed sprawled on top of Alfred, who made a hard grunting sound as he was crushed.

Luckily, Francis had the sense to stop walking, breaking the chain before it could continue into a full-blown disaster.

"Matthew!" he exclaimed, eyes widening in concern as he bent down next to his son, "Are you all right?"

Matthew sat up, leaving Alfred still face down in the dirt, groaning. "I'm fine," he said, casually brushing the dirt off of his clothes. Then he bent down to look at Alfred, squinting his eyes in mild concern. 

"Al? You okay?"

"Mmmph."

Arthur crossed his arms, trying to act irritated instead of worried. "Get up, Alfred. You're fine."

With many more pitiful noises, and a bit of support from Francis and Matthew, Alfred managed to turn around and sit up. He had a gash on his right knee, and his face was scratched and streaked with dirt, but he appeared otherwise uninjured.

"I'm dying," he whined. 

Arthur glared at him harshly, the only one of them still on his feet. "No you're not. Stop being overdramatic...and bloody watch where you're going from now on."

"Come now, Arthur," Francis said gently, on hand still resting on Alfred's shoulder in a comforting manner, "That was a bad fall. It must have been quite a shock." Then he turned to look at Alfred with a kind smile, "We have a first aid kit, if you would like something for that cut...."

Alfred blinked at Francis, something like confusion on his face. "No, I think I'm alright," he said, "Uh, thanks." Then, after a moment of thought, he added, "Um..maybe you could help me get up?"

Francis smiled. "Of course," he said, moving to brace an arm around the back of Alfred's shoulders. Matthew stood up as well, without help.

Arthur rolled his eyes with an unusual amount of genuine malice. "Don't encourage him," he said harshly, "He just wants attention. He loves having new people around who he can get attention from...."

Halfway through his journey to a standing position, Alfred's head snapped up to look at Arthur, anger suddenly visible in his blue eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you today, man?" he said as he finally found his way back to his feet.

Arthur's sweating face became incredulous. "What's wrong with me? What about you? Why are you suddenly behaving like a child?"

"Why are you suddenly acting like an asshole?"

"Guys," Matthew quietly interjected, fiddling dejectedly with the sleeves of his hoodie, "Can you not fight? I wanted this to be, you know...nice."

Francis looked between Alfred and Arthur, surprised by the sudden tension that had arisen between the two. 

"Matthew is right," Francis said carefully. At the sound of his voice, Alfred and Arthur broke their glare with each other to look at Francis in confusion, apparently not having heard Matthew say his part.

Francis sighed. "We should at least be trying to get along," he explained. 

Arthur and Alfred looked away, both still with some anger lingering in their expressions.

"I just don't understand why you're being so mean," Alfred mumbled. He wasn't looking at Alfred, but it was clear that he was directing his statement towards his roommate. 

Arthur looked at Alfred, dark brows tilted downwards in what could have been either guilt or confusion, "Not any more than usual, I didn't think."

Alfred shrugged, still not looking at Arthur.

After several moments of an almost peaceful silence, Matthew spoke up once again, this time with the slightest hint of a plea in his voice.

"Look," he said rationally, "The campsite's really close...I mean, I think. How about we just try to enjoy the walk for now, eh? It's a beautiful day out...."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Francis agreed pointedly. 

Alfred and Arthur made brief eye contact, before both supplying unenthusiastic shrugs as their response.

"Fantastique," Francis declared wearily, "Matthew, lead the way, s'il te plait." 

"Okay," Matthew said, with one of his gentle, uncertain smiles, "We just need to keep going this way. Alfred, watch your step; there's a lot of roots and stuff over here."

~

The party of four all blinked as their eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight of the campsite, which, unlike the scattered and diminished light of the forest, streamed in unrestricted onto the grassy clearing.  
Matthew smiled in satisfaction at his success. 

“I told you it was the purple path,” he said lightly as he began to inspect the small site, already looking for the best place to set up their tents.

“You know best, mon chère,” Francis said tiredly. After giving a patch of grass some very thorough inspection, he rolled out his sleeping bag and sat down with a relieved sigh.

Alfred’s mood had also improved at the first glance of their campsite, his enthusiasm returning with a vengeance. And, in need of an outlet, this enthusiasm decided to express itself by attacking Matthew from behind, and tackling him to the ground.

“Ow- hey! Al, stop it!” 

Alfred laughed exuberantly, dodging Matthew's desperately flailing limbs. After a few seconds of struggling, Matthew managed to gain the upper hand, switching their positions quickly and leaving Alfred with the soft, wild grass on his back as they continued to wrestle, screeching and laughing. 

"Alfred...." Arthur sighed, with a hint of tired disgust. Francis looked up at him from his seated position in the grass, smiling warmly.

"Do not worry about it, Arthur," he said, "They are brothers. This is how they are supposed to behave."

"Ow! Matt, what the hell? That hurt!"

"Then-ouch!-let me go!"

Arthur's mouth stayed turned down in an irritated frown as he watched the boys fight. Then he sighed, resigned, and plopped down hard on the sleeping bag next to Francis. On the ground, small insects hovered around their faces, and the smell of the grass carried over to them in the gentle breeze.

"Hello," Francis said playfully, grinning at Arthur.

"Hm," Arthur grunted in response. Then, a corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a smirk as he looked Francis over. "You look like absolute shit," he commented.

Francis pouted, face flinching as a gnat landed on his nose. "You don't look very nice, either," he snapped.

Arthur grinned, pleased at the reaction. "And you're as vain as a fourteen year old girl," he said. Then, when Francis still wouldn't look at him, he reached tentatively for Francis' head. "Here. You've got sticks in your hair...."

"Eeew," Afred's voice interrupted. It was slightly choked, as Matthew had him in a strong headlock.

Arthur's hand reflexively snapped away from Francis' hair, the tops of his ears tinting pink. Francis gave him an odd look out of the corner of his eye.

Matthew released his brother. "Alfred!" he hissed.

"What?" Alfred whined as he sat up, rubbing his sore neck.

Matthew just rolled his eyes, and gave Alfred one last punch on his arm. Alfred flinched.

"Whatever," Matthew sighed, "We should probably set up the tents. Arthur, Papa, can you do yours?"

Arthur and Francis shared a quick, panicked side glance. 

"...Yes," Francis said.

"Of course we can," Arthur agreed, a with slight defensive edge tinting his words. 

Matthew looked at them suspiciously. "Okay..." he said, "Well, if you need us, we'll just be over here."

Alfred sprang up to his feet. "Yeah! Tent setting-up time," he proclaimed happily, following Matthew to where their supplies were being kept.

Within a matter of minutes, Alfred and Matthew's small red and grey tent was set up perfectly, with all of the poles and ropes exactly where they needed to be. And while Matthew had in fact done most of   
the work, Alfred had thoroughly enjoyed pounding the little nails into the ground with the tiny hammer, and beamed proudly at their accomplishment once it was completed.

"Let's go inside!" Alfred suggested.

Matthew smiled. "Okay," he said. But before he could do more than duck his head slightly into tent's entrance, gentle but noticeable 'whoosh' sound not far away made him pull his head back out.

"Ooh la," Francis exclaimed reflexively as his and Arthur's tent collapsed, blowing out a puff of air as it fell almost gracefully to the ground.

"Bravo, Papa." Matthew said sarcastically, sounding exasperated, but not in the least bit surprised. Alfred hooted with laughter next to him.

Francis' face was guilty as he looked down at the lump of waterproof fabric that was supposed to be their tent. It became even more guilty when the lump began to move and talk.

"Jesus fucking Christ," came Arthur's slightly suffocated voice from under the lump, which had begun to thrash desperately, "I can't get out! This is ridiculous..." 

Alfred doubled over onto the ground, clutching his abdomen, the force of his laughter shaking his entire body. 

Matthew bit his lip, trying not to snicker himself as he watched Francis attempting to untangle Arthur from his prison.

"Here, let...let me help you...." Matthew offered. The words were a bit difficult to get out, because his own laughter kept fighting its way to the surface and breaking free. 

It took several minutes of Matthew's tent expertise to rescue Arthur from the collapsed shelter, and even more time for him to wrestle it into its intended form. By the time the process was finished, Alfred had finally managed to calm down, and the four of them stood calmly in a line, inspecting the finished project.

A bird chirped from high in the trees, the sound clear and happy. Alfred looked around impatiently.

"So, uh...what'd we do now?" he wondered.

Matthew turned away from his beautifully constructed tents to face his brother. "Um, well," he said pensively, "There's a nice lake pretty close to here. I was thinking maybe we could head down there for awhile. "

"Sounds awesome!" Alfred exclaimed before anyone else could have a say in the matter, "Race ya there!" And then he took off blindly into the woods.

"Wait...Alfred! You're not even going the right way!" And, with a roll of his eyes, Matthew dashed into the woods after his brother.

"We will catch up with you." Francis called after him, lazily.

Arthur looked over to Francis as the boys raced into the forest. "I'll bet you five dollars that Alfred ends up in the lake," he said slyly.

Francis snorted, "I will bet you Five dollars that both of them end up in the lake."

Arthur smirked, "Deal."

~  
By the time the two brothers reached the point where the forest ended, opening up onto the rocky edge of a clear, seemingly endless body of water, they were both exhausted, red-faced, and panting. As soon as they reached the end, they both flopped down onto the ground. 

"Oof," Alfred gasped as his body his the grass, "That was, like, a shitload of running."

Matthew's abdomen rose and fell rapidly from his position on the ground. "Well, whose fault was that?" he snapped, breathlessly. 

Choosing to ignore his brother's comment, Alfred said nothing, and quickly flung himself into a sitting position. 

"Woah," he said, as he got his first eyeful of the lake. It was much bigger than Alfred had imagined, stretching far enough to the other side that it would take a considerable effort to swim across, and continuing far enough in both directions that Alfred couldn't see the end on either side. The blue sky reflected brilliantly in the clear water, with the exception of the lake's edges, where the deep green trees were mirrored almost perfectly, their trunks continuing in an unbroken line to blur the difference between the water and the shore. Near the center of the lake, and a bit off to their left, was a small rocky island covered in full evergreens. 

Alfred gaped, eyes wide, at the sight in front of him. "This isn't...what I thought it was gonna look like," he admitted, never tearing his gaze away from the lake.

Matthew sat up, observing the look on his brother's face with curiosity. "A little different from the city, eh?" he asked, a little uncertainly.

Alfred shrugged, sliding himself closer to the edge of the lake and settling down on a large, sun-bathed rock.

"I didn't always live in the city," he admitted, "But I've never seen anything like this before, really."

Matthew bit his lip nervously, and scooted himself over so that he was sitting next to Alfred at the lake's edge, looking out onto the blue water. Once again, Matthew found himself caught between wanting to ask his brother questions, and also not wanting to push him too hard.

But Alfred seemed to be in an almost euphoric mood as a result of their little adventure, and Matthew was feeling comfortable in a more familiar setting. So he decided to take the risk, for a change.

"Where did you live before?" he asked Alfred casually.

Alfred tossed his head back in a quick, compulsory motion, tossing his sweat-drenched bangs out of his eyes. "Well, you know," he started, "Just a little town. Somewhere upstate, in The Valley." 

"Oh." Matthew looked at his brother from the corner of his eye, "That's near where we were born, isn't it?"

Alfred continued to stare out into the water. "Yeah. I mean...the river could be really nice, too. And I liked that I could see the stars. Sometimes, I'd sneak out onto the roof, cuz it like, hung out a little bit under my window, and I'd look at them. I guess I kinda miss that." 

Alfred's eyes were far away. For a moment, Matthew looked down, into the clear water, where he could see the image of gray pebbles being distorted by ripples in the water, and a few small fish swim around in aimless circles, dutifully occupying their space between where the air ended and the ground began.

Matthew took a deep breath. "Why...then why did you leave, Al?"

Alfred blinked, and the dazed film vanished from his eyes, as if he had just been woken up. For a rare moment, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

Then he smirked at Matthew. "'Cause I'm a rebel," he proclaimed proudly, before hurling the weight of his entire body at his brother, propelling them both into the water with an enormous splash.

~

Arthur took a swig of his pleasantly chilled beer, swatting flies away from his face with various disgusted expressions. He and Francis were lounging on the grass, squinting in the bright light of the afternoon sun, and just a little bit too exhausted to turn their conversations into anything more aggressive than soft, lighthearted bickering.

"Honestly, why would anyone ever enjoy this?" Arthur marveled with distaste, "Camping, I mean."

"I do not know," Francis said, "But, it is what Matthew likes, so...." He raised up his own bottle, signifying a toast, before drinking.

Arthur sighed. "Well, it's all bringing out a very strange side of Alfred," he mused. 

"How do you think?"

"I don't know. He's just acting like a big child." He thought for a moment. "Well, I guess that really isn't anything out of the ordinary."

Francis looked at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, "Well, nineteen is not very old, Arthur. Alfred can still act like a child sometimes. In fact, I think it might be a good thing for him."

Arthur huffed. "So you're the expert now, are you?"

Francis opened his delicate lips slightly, as if about to retaliate, but then sighed in resignation. In lieu of starting another verbal battle with the bristly Englishman, he decided to express his feelings in a much more primal manner- that is, by reaching out, grasping a handful of grass in his fist, and releasing it on top of Arthur's blond head. 

"Hey! Wanker..."Arthur muttered, brushing the blades from his hair and allowing them to fall leisurely onto his narrow shoulders. Francis chuckled, satisfied, before letting out a frightened, half-serious shriek as Arthur began to attack, ripping great chunks of grass from the Earth, to hurl them at Francis with vicious ferocity.

"Ah! Arthur, no!" Francis protested, laughing, "Not my hair, please, I beg you!"

"Should have thought of that before," Arthur said, but ceased his brutal assault when the sound of laughter and feet loudly tearing up the forest caught both of their attention.

When the boys emerged from the forest, Arthur and Francis noticed immediately that they were both soaking wet from head to toe.

"I suppose I owe you five dollars," Arthur sighed. Francis looked uncomfortable.

"No, no, I was just joking. Do not worry about it."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Francis, I swear to god-"

"Hey, guys!" Alfred beamed as he traipsed out into the clearing, his clothes dripping, and his blond hair several shades darker than usual because of the water. "What've you been up to?"

"Drinking," said Arthur dryly, holding up his beer in conformation. "I guess I don't have to ask what you two have been doing..."

"Alfred pushed me in!" Matthew complained. His tone was irritated, but his face was still drawn into a wide grin. He began wringing out his long hair, while Alfred headed for the cooler and began rifling around for a soda.

"Mon Dieu," Francis exclaimed, "How could he? We might have to send him back to New York."

"Hey!" Alfred protested, "I went in, too. See?" He gestured to his wet clothing. "But am I whining like a baby? No. I took it like a man."

"I still had my glasses on..." Matthew grumbled, removing his rounded spectacles and squinting at them to assess the damage.

"We will just have to do something to help you both dry up," Francis suggested. Arthur made a displeased face at the thought of leaving his seat on the ground.

"Oh, yeah," Matthew said as he placed his very smudged glasses back on his face, "I brought a soccer ball. I was thinking the four of us could play a little."

Alfred's eyes widened, "No."

Arthur, however, immediately perked up, a wolfish grin spread across his face, "What an excellent idea." 

"No." 

Matthew looked between the two of them, confused. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Alfred wrapped his arms across his chest, giving Arthur a wary, reproachful look, like a cat stuck in a corner. He said nothing to answer his brother's question.

But Arthur stood up from his position on the ground, brushing the leftover bits of grass from his pants, and said, "Nothing is wrong. Alfred just doesn't like to do things that he isn't good at. And football happens to be one of those things."

"Hey!" Alfred retorted, "That is not the reason. I don't like playing soccer with you because you're scary, and you'll hurt me."

Francis chuckled, standing up as well. "Do not worry, Alfred. It will just be a casual game- how about the two of us against Arthur and Matthew? I am sure we could hold our own."

This proposal only caused Arthur's grin to get larger and more villainous. "Come on, Alfred," he said, "I'll go easy on you this time."

Alfred narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "No you won't," he said plainly. Then, after a moment, he sighed, giving in. "Fine, whatever. I'll play."

"Great!" Matthew said happily, having been worried that his suggestion was going to be vetoed. He walked over to one of his bags to search for the ball. "We'll just have to set up goals. Maybe we could use some branches or something..."

As it turned out, Alfred and Francis put up a very strong fight in during the space of time between the start of the playing and their inevitable, gruesome downfall. The four of them played a total of five short, lawless games, of which "Team Awesome" won two. Because there were only two players per team, there were no positions or goalies, and because none of the group wanted to play for hours on end, they played to five points each game. This anarchic system gave rise to some incredibly aggressive and chaotic game-play, in which many squabbles for the ball eventually deteriorated into plain hand-to-hand combat, and the legitimacy of goals was often highly disputed because the large sticks that formed them kept shifting out of place.

Francis and Alfred worked very well together, with Francis's stealthy footwork and Alfred's brute strength and enthusiasm combining to create a formidable force. But their lack of communication caused problems, with both rushing out to confront Arthur at once, and leaving the goal unguarded. In contrast, Matthew and Arthur found that they had very similar strategic thinking, and didn't need to use any words to set up a system in which Arthur would stay on his side, wait for Francis and Alfred to come for him, while Matthew would hang back quietly, waiting for Arthur to use one of his quick, well-placed kicks to get the ball over to the other side so that he Matthew could score. 

So, in the end, Matthew an Arthur celebrated their victory, and Alfred and Francis slumped down onto the grass, tired and defeated.

"C'mere, kid," Arthur grinned, flipping his sweaty hair out of his face and clapping Matthew on the back, "You were amazing, honestly. We should definitely do this again sometime."

Matthew smiled timidly, pleased with the compliments. "Yeah! It was awesome."

Alfred and Francis both groaned loudly. 

Arthur looked down at them, arms across his chest, like a victorious general surveying a body-strewn battlefield. He walked over to Alfred, who was spread out on the grass, and gave his head a little tap with his foot. "Would you look at this," he said, shaking his head slowly, "Living proof that Americans can't play a game of football for shit."

This was the last straw for Alfred, who, with a scream of rage, flung himself at Arthur's legs, bringing him down to the ground in one swift, powerful movement.

"AH! Jesus Christ, Alfred, stop that-hey!" Arthur yelled in mortification as Alfred threw himself on top of him, promptly beginning to tickle his friend without mercy.

"Sto-ha! Stop that!" Arthur gasped, between fits of uncontrollable laughter. Francis sat up to watch the scene, and he and Matthew caught each other's eyes, grinning at Arthur's change in mood.

"Take it back!" Alfred demanded, struggling to keep his face serious as he continued his assault. 

"N-no!" Arthur said stubbornly.

"I'm not letting you go until you say that Americans are better than British people."

"Absolutely not!"

Alfred tickled harder.

"F-fine!" Arthur almost shrieked, "Americans are better!"

With that declaration, the flurry of movement and sound that was Alfred and Arthur's struggle immediately ceased, and Alfred stood up, leaving Arthur panting on the ground.

Arthur looked up at his roommate. "At being wankers," he amended, the moment he regained enough breath in his lungs to speak.

Alfred just shook his head at him. "Too late, bro. You already said it."

"Only because I was being tortured," Arthur snapped, his usual sour demeanor returning as he was given some time to come back to his senses. 

Matthew was still smiling, secretly very pleased that his camping trip seemed to be working out after all. He really had just wanted everyone to have a nice time, and to get along.

Alfred sighed, giving up on Arthur entirely, and took a seat on the nearby cooler. "I'm hungry," he declared suddenly. Matthew perked up.

"Oh! Well, we should probably start getting some wood together to make a fire," he said, "We brought hot dogs and hamburgers. And stuff for S'mores."  
Alfred winced. He had one leg drawn up onto the opposite knee, and was rubbing at his calf gingerly. Streams of sweat starting at his hairline were still running down his red face with impressive force,   
like he had transformed into a living showerhead. He had really, really wanted to beat Arthur at soccer, and was now considering the possibility that he may have overexerted himself on the field.

"Does that mean I would have to get up?" he asked wearily. Matthew took a moment to look over his twin- and decided that he did look a little worse off than the others. It struck Matthew that Alfred, despite all of his apparently constant energy, probably wasn't used to so much physical activity in one day. Arthur probably had to exercise and keep in some kind of shape for his dancing- not that Matthew really wanted to dwell on that thought for too long- but Alfred spent most of his time flipping burgers at McDonald's, or hanging out at the apartment playing video games or watching movies.

"Um...why don't you stay here and watch our stuff," Matthew suggested, giving Alfred one last, slightly concerned look, "And drink some water or something, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever." Alfred looked relieved. "Just hurry up with those sticks; I'm starvin'."

Arthur scowled at his demanding tone, but didn't say anything as he, Francis and Matthew headed into the trees. 

"We'll be back soon!" Matthew called over his shoulder, but Alfred had already begun to rummage around in the cooler for a drink, and didn't respond.

~

When the three of them returned several minutes later, each with armfuls of branches and small sticks so large that they covered their faces, Alfred was sprawled out in the grass, long limbs stretching out in every direction, and snoring loudly.

"Christ," Arthur huffed, tossing his bundle of sticks to the ground irreverently, "So much for looking after our things."

Francis, however, smiled joyfully at the sight. "Oh," he cooed, "That is so adorable!"

"Oh, shut up," Arthur snapped.

After setting down his own haul gently, Matthew slowly approached Alfred, and bent down to give his shoulder a slight shake. 

"Alfred?" he said, "We're back. It's time to eat now."

Alfred groaned, swatting his brother's hand away deliriously. Francis chuckled.

"Why don't we just start to build the fire," he suggested, "We can let Alfred sleep for a few more minutes, yes?"

By the time they (or, mainly, Matthew) had formed a little ring of stones, set up the sticks and branches in the correct formation, and started the fire going, blowing on it gently to encourage its growth, Alfred had fully awakened. He yawned widely as he took a seat on one of the sleeping bags that had been laid out near the fire.

"Ok," Matthew said, a happy, whistle-while-you work air about him as he dug into their supplies, "How many hot dogs do we need? Alfred? How many do you think you're gonna have?

Alfred, who had been gazing dazedly into the fire, blinked several times when he realized that he was being addressed. "Huh? Oh, um, I dunno. Maybe two?"

Arthur wrinkled his nose, both from the smoke that was relentlessly billowing in his direction, and at the strangeness of Alfred's answer. "Only two? I thought you were starving."

"Um." The fire was making Alfred's entire body much too warm. 

Francis, sitting to Alfred's left, leaned over to get a closer look at Alfred's face, his eyebrows angling downwards in concern. "You look a little bit pale, chere," he said gently, "Are you feeling alright?"

Alfred leaned back onto his arms in what he hoped was a casual manner, feeling the grass compress beneath his elbows, and smiled a little too brightly. "Yeah, totally," he said, "I feel awesome. Why wouldn't I?"

Francis continued to look at him, one eyebrow slightly arched in concerned suspicion, but then the sound of Matthew's confused voice forced him to turn away his attention from Alfred.

"Uh, Papa?" Matthew asked hesitantly, still bent over their bags, "Where did we put all the marshmallows and chocolate bars? I thought they were in here...."

Alfred's eyes widened, continuing to stare so intently into the flames that his eyes began to burn from the smoke.

Arthur, who was a seasoned veteran when it came to Alfred causing trouble, had been observing his roommate's face with increasing scrutiny as the conversation went on. Upon hearing Matthew's words, and seeing Alfred's reaction to them, a horrified expression began to grow on his face. "Alfred," he said in disbelief, "You didn't."

Alfred shook his head, not speaking, as if he could block out the situation entirely by simply ignoring them. Matthew looked between the two of them, his mind slowly putting the pieces together and   
approaching understanding of the situation. His face became filled with a sort of hesitant disgust, as if he wasn't quite ready to believe all of the evidence laid out in front of him.

"Oh...my God," he said slowly. Now there was nothing but shocked silence except for the crackling of the campfire as all eyes turned to Alfred, who suddenly drew his knees into his chest, buried his head in his arms, and let out a groan that could have been of physical pain, or despair, or both.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, words running into his arms and becoming muffled and difficult to understand, seeming more and more like a little boy about to have a tantrum with each passing second.

In an instant, Matthew's expression exploded from guarded to completely appalled. He gaped at his brother in horror, "What...Alfred, there were two bags of marshmallows and six candy bars in there. There's no way you could have..." 

Alfred lifted his head up, eyes wide and pained as he shamefully reached into his pockets, extracting entire fistfuls of empty bags and wrappers. 

"Mon Dieu," Francis gasped, face going becoming all sharp edges in his shock, "Alfred!" 

"I'm sorry!" Alfred wailed, obscuring his face once again with his hands, "I was hungry!"

Matthew was having trouble finding words. His jaw moved up and down slowly several times, never quite completely closing, trapped somewhere between speech and silence, before managing to choke out, "But I...I don't even understand how that's possible!"

Arthur had a hand on his forehead, frustration and embarrassment pushing him out of the realm of rationality. "Jesus, Alfred. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The last statement was said sharply, and Arthur regretted the words the moment they flew out of his mouth, making his tongue feel like a whip, all hate and teeth and fire. They seemed to have stung everyone around him, because every one of them fell silent, and the air felt like a thick sea of nausea between them. Alfred didn't say anything. He just kept his face hidden, trying to pretend that the world was a figment of his imagination. It was a skill well-practiced...but the circumstances didn't seem to be dire enough for his mind to take him away entirely. 

It was this realization that prompted Alfred to raise his head. When he did, he found that someone was touching him, that Francis had placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and was looking at him with confused, frightened eyes; twin wide, bright blue pools , both swirling with concern.

From the other side of the fire, Arthur was staring at Alfred, trying to capture the boy's eye contact with a steady, tired gaze. "You still in there, Alfred?" he asked evenly, and the words had an air of routine to them which puzzled Francis and Matthew. Francis unconsciously tightened his grip on Alfred's shoulder as he nodded, a small quirk of a smile appearing on his face.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes still ringed in red from the smoke, "It's cool."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I'm sorry...that was too much."

Alfred shrugged. "S'okay," then he looked over to his brother remorsefully, "I'm sorry about the food..."

Matthew's face was decidedly neutral, although he couldn't help but still be completely baffled and (even though it made his stomach turn over a little in shame) almost disgusted by Alfred's behavior. No matter how much he strained his mind, he couldn't understand how Alfred had defied all common courtesy, eaten half of their food, and ultimately gotten nothing but sympathy from the two older men just because he had shut down like a child in a corner. The whole scene had made Matthew terribly uncomfortable- like hearing strangers argue through the walls at a hotel, or seeing a parent hit their child in a public place. It just felt so wrong...and Matthew wasn't used to being the one who was out of the loop when it came to Alfred's feelings.

Thankfully, Francis was quick to respond, saving Matthew from having to be the one to accept Alfred's apology. "That is alright, mon petite oiseau," he said, his tone as soft and as soothing as warm honey, and Matthew wondered when Alfred had become his Papa's "little bird". "We have some snacks back at the cabin, I think...Arthur and I can go get them. It would only take an hour or so."  
Arthur perked up immediately at the thought of going back to the cabin. "That sounds like an excellent idea," he said, almost ecstatic, "Maybe I could even take a shower...."

"Fine," Matthew's voice was clipped- not harsh or unpleasant, but tainted with something other than his usual soft shyness, like anger with a blanket thrown over it. If any of the company noticed this edge, then they left it without comment.

Francis and Arthur began making preparations to head back to the cabin, leaving Matthew to start skewering cold, pale hot dogs onto long sticks, apparently becoming too engrossed in the task to spare another word or look for his brother.

~

As soon as they both climbed into the car, and Francis pulled onto the road with the soft sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires, Arthur could tell from the atmosphere that the other had not arranged to have them alone only for the sake of retrieving snacks from the cabin.

And he knew that it wasn't for any of the reasons that he would have secretly enjoyed, either.

Francis was driving carefully, all of his concentration apparently on the road ahead of him as he securely gripped the steering wheel with both of his white, slender hands. Every so often, his eyes would flicker for the minutest of seconds to Arthur, who would pretend not to notice, turning his head to gaze at the unchanging scenery outside of his window.

Francis ran his tongue over his spotless teeth; a nervous habit. After what felt like an endless, hellish eternity to both himself and Arthur, Francis finally broke the thin silence with a question.

"So, does that happen...a lot?" 

Arthur licked his lips, still not exactly looking at Francis, but not looking in the complete opposite direction, either. "What do you mean?" he replied, pseudo-casually.

Francis scowled, not in anger, but in deep, troubled thought. "Does Alfred...react to things that way often? Where he just shuts down?"

"No," Arthur said simply, "Hasn't happened in ages." He looked down to his lap. "Gave me a bit of a scare, to be honest. Sometimes he would stay like that for a long time."

Francis nodded, still focusing diligently on his driving. "Could you please turn on the air conditioning?" he asked, and Arthur quickly did so, fiddling with knobs and buttons until cool air was forcing its way into the car with a dull, constant drone.

"I still cannot believe he ate all of those things," Francis continued, trying to keep some light humor in his voice.

There was a long pause in the conversation. As the silence stretched on, Francis began to wonder if Arthur had decided to end it completely, to kill it before it had the opportunity to grow into something more. But then he spoke, and he sounded so bitter that Francis worried he had pushed just a little too hard.

"Well, one of his 'families' didn't fucking feed him, so..."

Francis gripped the steering wheel hard, clinging onto it like a life line...but he knew that there was no going back, that there was no rope he could tug on that would pull him out of this conversation.  
Arthur's head snapped in Francis's direction, angled, viperous. "They didn't feed him, Francis, when he was a helpless child who could barely do it himself. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? You want to know all the gritty details, don't you?"

Francis breathed in a difficult, shuddering breath, but didn't say anything. He knew instinctively that he needed to let Arthur talk about this- that, somewhere behind all of the protective curtains, Arthur wanted to talk about this. That he needed to, just as Alfred needed to, someday.

Arthur ran his hands over his face, agitated, his hair still slightly dampened with sweat from their earlier football match. 

"Of course he eats everything he can get his bloody hands on," Arthur continued, and he was furious- but not furious at Francis. "It isn't gluttony, it's instinct...it's how he's learned to survive. I don't think he even realizes...."

Arthur sighed, seeming to deflate a little, all furious energy beginning to leave him.

Francis spoke slowly, chose his words carefully, highly aware of each cautious step on this dangerous new ground. "Arthur," he started, "You know, that...that is an eating disorder."

Arthur went back to looking out to the trees , and Francis could feel the curtains being drawn, could feel his window rapidly closing.

"Arthur, please," Francis was struggling to pay attention to the road, but was trying to avoid a repeat of the day's earlier incident, "Arthur, Alfred needs help. He needs to go to therapy."

Arthur's reaction was in every way exactly what Francis had expected, and feared, it would be. In an instant, it seemed like every part of Arthur's body had begun to bristle, his entire being standing on end, utterly on the defensive.

"Alfred is fine," Arthur hissed, "He gets better every year. I've seen it. He isn't bloody crazy-"

"I know that, Arthur," Francis said, words straining desperately, "You are being ridiculous. Matthew has gone to speak to someone many times. I took him when Marianne passed away, and we took him when we still thought that Alfred was someone that he was making up...both of their lives have been very complicated, Arthur. It is completely normal that they would need some extra help."

Arthur still wasn't looking at him, but Francis didn't need to see his face to know that he was thinking hard, struggling to digest everything that Francis was throwing at him.

"They always tell me that, when a child experiences something traumatic, they tend to get...stuck," Francis explained, "It is like they cannot move on from being the age that they were when it happened."   
His eye flickered again towards Arthur, who's shoulders were still drawn up, tension radiating from his entire body. "Does that not sound like Alfred to you?"

The stifling silence in the car was almost worse than anything that Arthur or Francis could have said, but somehow Arthur couldn't force himself to respond to Francis's question. There was a spot on his arm where the air conditioning was blowing too forcefully, and the skin was beginning to feel numb and stiff. He reached out to fiddle with the vents, and felt the breeze shift to gently ruffle his hair. He felt his mind beginning to shut down.

Francis knew that the conversation was over. As he turned into the driveway of the cabin, he sighed, more from exhaustion than disappointment, and decided that Arthur and Alfred probably just needed some more time.

When Francis parked the car, Arthur all but sprinted into the cabin, and he was halfway up the stairs to the second floor by the time Francis made it through the front door. 

"What are you doing?" Francis asked, and Arthur froze in his tracks, scowling.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm going to take a shower, then possibly fall asleep in a nice warm bed, with a mattress and blankets...."

Francis looked up at him with an affectionate kind of irritation, placing his hands on his hips like he used to do when Matthew was being obstinate (not that that had been often). 

"You do not even have a mattress at home, chère," he pointed out, beginning to wander towards the staircase, his actions and speech oozing well-practiced coyness. "Unless I have spoiled you, with all of   
those nights at the hotel...." He took the first few steps, never breaking eye contact with Arthur. 

If Francis had expected Arthur to blush and stutter, then he was tragically disappointed. Arthur was completely determined not to sleep in a tent that night, and he would not be swayed so easily from his purpose. He scowled at Francis before turning and continuing his ascent to the second floor.

"Arthur," Francis insisted, more seriously than before, "We cannot just leave them. We have to go back."

"They would completely be fine on their own," Arthur said, "In fact, I think they'd be happy to be rid of us...."

Francis took a few more, slow steps, until he was perched between two levels, one foot resting on the step just below Arthur. "You are fooling yourself, Arthur," he said, in the soothing, warm-butter voice that always made Arthur feel like he was being brainwashed, or hypnotized, "They would both be terribly disappointed. They want us all to be together. In fact, I think that Alfred is starting to feel like he has a family."

Arthur took a moment for these words to sink in, before swinging around to face Francis, groaning painfully. "Oh, you are so cruel," he accused.

Francis made a drawn out, sympathetic sound. "Oh, I know. Mon pauvre..." and then he launched himself upwards to peck Arthur on the lips.

Arthur spared him a dejected glare, still close enough to the other man's face that he could feel every puff of hot breath that left his lips. "I'm still going to take a shower," he said, "I'll only be a few minutes, alright?" 

Francis sighed, realizing that this was most likely the best concession he could hope for. As he listened to the screech of pipes and the sound of falling water coming from the bathroom, he searched around in the cupboards for any treats they had left behind, and inwardly praised himself for being the diligent one for a change. He hadn't even tried to do anything with Arthur.

That is, until the sound of running water ceased, and a few minutes later Arthur was stomping down the stairs, fresh t-shirt and shorts clinging to his wet body, and wet hair sticking up in a thousand different, jagged directions. 

"Francis!" He screamed, waving around what looked like a pile of black and white fabric, "Would you care to tell me what the fuck this was doing in my suitcase?"

It took Francis a moment to sift through his memory and realize what it probably was that Arthur was referring to. When he did, he froze in terror, feeling his fight-or-flight instincts kick in as it dawned on him exactly how much trouble he was likely in. 

But Francis wasn't an animal, and was able to override his natural fear response, instead opting for a more sophisticated approach.

"What are you talking about?" he wondered, forcing his voice to sound as innocent as possible. If anything, this only served to anger Arthur further.

"You bloody well know what I'm talking about, you disgusting pervert!" Arthur spat as he entered the kitchen, and shoved the bundle of fabric into Francis's face. "It's my..." Arthur struggled to make the words sound dignified, in order to better maintain his aura of righteous anger. But the end of his sentence still came out small and embarrassed, "...Police...outfit."

Francis was trying very valiantly not to grin at his accomplishment. All the same, edges of his voice were tinted with laughter as he explained himself. "It was only a joke, Arthur."

Arthur's intense eyebrows soared into his hairline in a way that was somehow completely terrifying. "Oh? Do you think that what I do is funny, Francis?"

Francis attempted to control his mirth, painfully aware that he was clinging onto the edge of a very dangerous cliff. "No, of course not, mon ange," he insisted, reaching out and placing his hands on 

Arthur's shoulders. Arthur's eyes narrowed, but he didn't pull away. "I know that you work very hard. I was just...."

"You were just hoping that I would wear it for you. Weren't you?" Arthur asked harshly, as if it were the greatest sin that anyone had ever committed.

And Francis made sure to look thoroughly ashamed, lowering his eyes and pouting his lips ever so slightly, like a chastised pornography schoolgirl. He certainly was a master at his craft. "Well...perhaps," he admitted, raising his eyes once again to meet Arthur's shyly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, arms crossed. For a moment, he remained the picture of detached skepticism...but then he leaned forward, whispering in Francis's ear in a way that made Francis close his eyes and bite his lower lip.

"You are disgusting and I know exactly what you're doing," he whispered, but Francis could feel the lack of resolve behind the words, and shivered as Arthur's lips brushed against his earlobe in a way that just had to be deliberate.

And when Arthur turned away from him, keeping his "uniform" clutched in one hand, and headed for the downstairs bathroom, Francis grinned, trailing behind.

"Do you really need to change in there?" he called, "It is not like it is anything I have not seen before."

"Don't push it, frog," came Arthur's muffled reply through the wooden door of the small bathroom. There was a dull thud, followed by a string of colorful expletives. 

Francis snickered. Arthur, must have heard, because he called out, "Just go up to the bedroom! Do you want me to do this or not?"

Francis scurried up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

By the time Francis finally began to here Arthur's torturously slow footsteps coming up the stairs, he was sprawled out on the bed, still fully clothed , his entire body tingling with anticipation. 

When Arthur entered the bedroom, however, it was not with quite the level of confident seduction which Francis had been so lucky to have witnessed at the strip club, weeks beforehand. In fact, he peeked around the doorframe tentatively, wearing a guarded scowl that Francis had learned was Arthur's way of expressing embarrassment. He was just visible enough that Francis could see the checkered cap crookedly perched on Arthur's hair, and just the slightest hint of the black tie that was wrapped neatly around his small neck.

When he didn't make any move to enter the room, Francis smiled reassuringly, running a hand along the crisp white bed sheets to signal that Arthur should come and join him. He and Matthew hadn't used the cabin since the previous Summer, but Francis lent it out during the year, and always made sure that someone was keeping it clean and fully furnished. And so there were sheets on the bed, towels in the bathrooms, and every surface was polished and free of cobwebs.

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes, and stepped into the bedroom, using one hand to make sure that his almost comically large cap didn't fall from his head. As Francis allowed his eyes to wander over Arthur's body, lingering for a particularly long amount of time on the tight little black shorts, he marveled at his amazing luck. First, because he had managed to catch Arthur in such a fantastically agreeable mood...and second, of course, because he had somehow managed to find someone like Arthur in the first place. As Arthur crawled onto him, placing one leg on either side of his waist, Francis though that there was a definite lack of people on the planet who would give him a lap dance, but glare at him through the entire thing like it was all his fault.

Arthur grabbed Francis's stubbled chin, forcing Francis to look him directly into his forest green eyes. At the moment, they seemed to be particularly piercing, and Francis thought for a moment that they reminded him of some sort of ancient, powerful fairy creature, or something- the kind that was filled with such strong magic that it could kill you just by looking in your eyes. 

"Put your hands over your head."

Francis raised an eyebrow at him, eyes glimmering with amusement and disbelief. When he made no move to do as he had instructed, Arthur sighed in frustration, before grabbing hold of each of Francis's arms, picking them up and pinning them to the headboard with surprising authority. Then, using one hand to hold Francis' wrists in place, he reached to his belt, pulling out a pair of cheap, plastic handcuffs.

Francis snorted.

Arthur struggles not to break his eye contact with Francis as he fumbled with the cuffs, eventually managing to snap them into place around Francis' wrists. "Do you think this is funny?" Arthur snapped, but his anger was unconvincing, as he was obviously trying very hard to keep his own laughter from bubbling to the surface.

But when Francis nodded, chuckling, Arthur was able to silence him with a well-placed roll of his hips. Francis squeezed his eyes closed tightly in response, a small gasp of breath breaking free of his lips.

Arthur leaned forward to whisper in Francis' ear. "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, Sir. You are in some very serious trouble with the law."

At that, Francis could no longer control himself, and immediately burst into a fit breathy laughter. Arthur bit his lip hard to try and prevent himself from doing the same, knowing full well how completely ridiculous he looked and sounded. But, he thought, if they were going to do this, then they sure as hell were going to do it right.

Arthur made the quick decision to give up on his cap, throwing it behind himself carelessly. It flew across the room, spinning like a Frisbee.

Then, he silenced Francis' laughter with a deep kiss, which Francis began to reciprocate immediately. By the time Arthur moved to Francis's neck, the older man was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling. 

He trailed down slowly lower with his mouth, pausing momentarily to pull Francis grass-stained and sweaty tank top over his head (He had to somewhat awkwardly remove and replace the cuffs in order to do so, and Francis teasingly chastised him for his lack of forethought). Arthur regretted the circumstances that robbed him of the chance to pull apart the buttons of one of Francis' usual fancy suits.

Once the obstacle of the shirt was passed, Arthur began to move lower.

"Arthur..." Francis moaned. While lesser men might have been frustrated by this sort of teasing, Francis appreciated it; to him, lovemaking was an art form, and should never be taken too quickly.

But that certainly wasn't to say that he was unhappy when Arthur finally made it to the hem of his pants.

~

Alfred was sitting too close to the fire, and he knew it. His face was burning, his body bathed in radiant heat, and bits of stray, dying ash were occasionally stinging his flesh, like being bitten by vicious, glowing mosquitoes. The direction of the breeze changed almost imperceptibly, and the smoke blew into Alfred's face, causing him to cough and his eyes to water.

At the sound of Alfred's gasping, Matthew's eyes flickered over to his brother from where he sat, roasting his own hotdog a reasonable distance away from the flame. 

Alfred fidgeted at the unpleasant silence that had taken root between them. "So, how long does it normally take?" he asked, referring to the roasting of the hotdogs. 

Matthew didn't look at him. "I'll tell you when they're done," was all he offered. 

Alfred hiccupped loudly. When Matthew continued to ignore him, he broke, unable to stand the silence that both alarmed and confused him.

"Mattie?" he prodded, cautiously.

"Yeah?" There it was again, that tone of voice that Alfred couldn't place; completely amiable, not harsh and biting like Arthur could be, but somehow still making his insides roil, still making him feel like something was fundamentally wrong with the universe.

Alfred swallowed some saliva. "Are you mad at me?" he wondered.

Matthew took a deep breath, "No."

"Oh. Okay. Good." Alfred was still bewildered and a little hurt by his brother's behavior, and it showed in his voice. Despite his annoyance, Matthew couldn't help but feel guilty for causing Alfred any sort of pain.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if bracing himself. "I just don't understand why you did that, Alfred," he admitted, "I mean, I know it isn't a big deal or anything, but didn't you even stop to think about the rest of us? I just don't get it."

Alfred studied Matthew's face, regret glistening clearly in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking back at into the fire, "Sometimes when I see food I kinda...forget about everything else in the world."

Alfred's words, combined with his serious tone of voice, and the way that he was gazing pensively at his slowly roasting hotdog, caused an amused snort to force its way out of Matthew's vocal chords.

"What?" Alfred asked, a small smile of his own breaking free as he felt the atmosphere between them begin to shift.

Matthew shook his head, grinning. "Nothing. You're funny," he said, and there was an easy fondness in his dark blue eyes that made Alfred feel warm and nervous and right, and like he wanted to make his brother laugh every day for the rest of his life. 

Before he could say anything more, a particularly string gust of wind blew the flames dangerously close to Alfred's body, and he jumped back with a small, startled yelp. At the same time, Matthew frowned, looking up at the sky. 

"It looks like it's gonna rain," he said, keeping his eyes fixated on a dark, swollen cloud that was steadily encroaching on the clear twilight over their clearing. "I hope Papa and Arthur get back soon...."

Alfred drew his knees up to his chest, looking up to the sky like his brother. He noticed that, at some point, the air had begun to feel heavy, and the pleasant but foreboding scent of grass and dirt and moisture filled him with every breath he took. He suddenly felt like there was electricity crackling under his skin.

"So, what happens if there's a thunderstorm?" he asked Matthew (his brother was, after all, the camping expert). 

Matthew snapped out of his daze, tearing his eyes away from the sky. "Well...I guess we'd have to go back to the cabin."

Alfred made a displeased face at the notion. He was just beginning to think that he really liked camping, and now it looked like a dumb storm was going to ruin it.

Matthew must have noticed Alfred's distress, because he thought for a moment, and then said, his eyes glinting with enthusiasm, "You know what we should do? We should tell scary stories. The weather's perfect for it."

Alfred was apprehensive, but tried to appear as though he was as happy with the idea as Matthew. "Oh. Uh, okay, sure, " he chuckled nervously, "Why not?"

Matthew finally pulled his hotdog out of the fire, Alfred following suit. After they had both gotten their buns and condiments, Matthew settled down near the fire, using his rolled up sleeping bag as a seat, and bracing his elbows onto his knees. 

He took a bit of his dinner before starting. "Okay," he said, lowering his quiet voice in an attempt to sound ominous, "So, there once was this old hotel...."

Alfred chewed on his hotdog slowly, still vaguely feeling the effects of his chocolate-and-marshmallow episode, and listened to Matthew's soft voice. He was relieved to find that his brother's stories weren't at all scary (although he wouldn't tell him that, and would try his best to jump and gasp at all the right places) and he found himself feeling relaxed and happy as he laid back into the cool grass, watching the embers from the dimming fire climb into the air, their light slowly dying as they made their way up to the rapidly darkening sky.

~

Arthur and Francis laid in the queen-sized bed together, breathing and heart rates slowly returning to normal. They had pulled the covers up to cover their naked bodies (because it had started to get a little chilly in the cabin, for some reason). Arthur was still wearing his black tie, and sat up as he attempted to free himself of the irritating article, all the while wearing a look of immense self-satisfaction.

Francis, however, simply stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed and gasping, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he had just been topped the living hell out of.

As he began to return to his senses, Francis reached over to where Arthur sat, taking a moment to trail his hand up his partner's spine before stretching up to his neck, nimble fingers helping to loosen Arthur's tie. 

"So," he asked, as the piece of fabric was finally removed from Arthur's body, "Why is it that we have never done that before?"

Arthur settled himself back down into the covers, lying on his stomach and supporting his upper body with his elbows so that he could look at Francis. "Didn't think you seemed interested," he answered simply, still appearing to be quite proud of himself.

Francis smiled, reaching over to run a hand through the other man's hair. "Any time, chere. I am not picky."

"Good to know," Arthur said, laying his head down onto the pillow and allowing Francis to do as he wanted with his hair.

There was a pleasant moment of tranquil silence, during which Arthur's eyes had begun to drift closed, lulled into half -sleep by the soothing combination of Francis playing with his hair, and the gentle sound of the rain pattering against the windows.

Wait.

Arthur's eyes shot open, and he immediately propelled himself into a sitting position. When he met Francis' eyes, he could tell that the other man had also realized that something was currently very very wrong. 

Before they could communicate in any other way than shared, horrified expressions, the air around them was spilt with a roaring clap of thunder.

"Fuck," Arthur stated, looking out the window guiltily, "Alfred and Matthew...."

Before Arthur had finished speaking, Francis had already thrown himself out of the bed, not even bothering to find his clothing before hurrying downstairs to retrieve his cell phone.

By the time Arthur met Francis in the living room, fully clothed and carrying Francis's own clothing in his hand, Francis was spitting and cursing, glaring heatedly at his cell phone.

"They must not have any service out there," he raved, wild-eyed and pacing with worry, "Of course they do not. How could we have just left them in the woods with no way to communicate with us?"

Arthur held out Francis' clothing wordlessly, and they were snatched out of his hand with vigor. 

"And I cannot believe I let you distract me with sex," Francis muttered to himself as he began to dress himself, "And I was trying to be responsible, for a change...."

Arthur snorted wryly, "Really? You're the one who snuck my bloody stripping clothes into my luggage."

"It was supposed to be a joke!" Francis snapped, agitated, "I did not think that you would actually put it on. How was I supposed to say no to that?"

Arthur's face scrunched up at what sounded to him like an accusatory statement. "I only did it because I wanted to get out of sleeping in a bloody tent all night! I'm not some pervert, like you are."

Francis stared at him, mouth hanging open ever so slightly as the realization of Arthur's true intentions hit him. "You...you...you siren," he gasped, "You are evil!"

Arthur glared, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe if you learned to think with your brain instead of your genitals, we wouldn't be in this situation!"

Arthur had expected a retaliation, so he was mildly surprised when Francis sighed, sitting down hard on the old, patterned couch. Arthur thought mildly that it didn't seem like the type of furniture that   
Francis would choose...perhaps Matthew got to have some say when it came to the furnishing of the cabin.

"You are right," Francis griped, leaning back into the couch and rubbing his temples, "It has always been this way. I am a terrible father."

Arthur was uncomfortable. He took a hesitant seat next to Francis on the couch, saying, "No, uh...you aren't that bad. Really. I've seen much worse."

Just then, a particularly loud thunderclap shook the cabin. A moment later, all of the lights in the building flickered, and died, plunging them both into almost complete darkness.

"I suppose we deserved that, didn't we?" Arthur sighed, and Francis chuckled wearily. 

~

"I can't believe him," Matthew muttered darkly. He and Alfred were holed up in their small tent, each curled in on themselves in their own sleeping bags, looking like nothing but blobs of waterproof fabric with identical blond, bespectacled heads. The white, sterile light of an electric lantern glowed between them, causing a multitude of distorted shadows. Outside, rain was coming down in sheets, and the sides of the tent were bending inwards under the force of the rain and wind. 

There was a flash of lightning bright enough to shine through the thin walls."Actually, no," Matthew amended after some thought, as Alfred silently mouthed numbers to himself, "I can believe him. It's always like this...the moment he has a chance to get lucky, it's like he forgets that he even has a son. It's amazing I'm not completely messed up by now." There was an alarmingly loud crack of thunder, and Matthew drew his sleeping bag a little closer up his neck, burying his face into his slightly damp pillow.

"Nine seconds," Alfred declared, rolling onto his back to stare at the patterns of light on the roof of the tent, "How many miles is that supposed to mean? Mattie?"

Matthew's only response was to groan loudly into the fabric of his pillow. 

Alfred turned onto his side to look at his distressed brother, his glasses skewing slightly as they were pressed into his own pillow. "Well, if it makes you feel any better...I think you are pretty messed up."   
He smirked mischievously at Matthew's cold glare. "I mean, coming to the city, dating strippers, doing drugs..." 

"Hey!" Matthew exclaimed defensively, "That was only...twice." His voice got smaller as he finished the sentence.

"Fucking stoner," Alfred accused, and Matthew moved quickly to start beating his twin with his pillow.

"Ah! Violent...behavior...." Alfred continued between vicious strikes of Matthew's pillow.

"Shut up," Matthew said, but he smiled as he rolled back onto the ground, finding that he was too tired to continue attacking Alfred. 

Breathing a little heavily from laughing and being pummeled, Alfred gave his brother a brief glance out of the corner of his eye. "I dunno, Mattie," he said, "I don't think he means it. Maybe Francis is just the way with sex that I am with food."

Matthew's eyes stared into the lantern, eyes glazed and far away. "Yeah. Maybe."

There was another clap of thunder, this time even louder than before. It seemed to split the air around them, leaving both brothers with the hair on their necks standing on end.

Alfred shivered. "Maybe you should tell another story," he suggested.

Matthew agreed. So, as the storm blew and crashed around them, Alfred listened to the sound of Matthew's soft, gentle words, and found himself slowly drifting off to sleep....

Alfred was in a spaceship. It was his sole mission to travel off into the unknown, to discover groundbreaking scientific ....

No. Alfred was Superman, and he was flying through the air, determined to rescue the people of....

No. He was Alfred Jones, world famous archeologist, and he was about to retrieve the sacred ruby of.....

Alfred was in his bed. He was alone.  
He wasn't alone. His skin was crawling, like the feeling when he saw spiders, but so much worse. Someone's hands were there...faceless, bodiless hands. Hands that belonged to no one. Hands that couldn't belong to someone...

Not happening. Not happening. Couldn't be happening. 

"Al...Alfred?"

Not happening. Have to go, have to sleep, have to go somewhere else.

"Alfred, what's happening? You're s-scaring me...."

Have to be quiet. Don't move- if you move, then it's real. Don't cry for help....

Alfred can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe, doesn't understand, can't breathe....

"Alfred!" 

Alfred was thrown into the present as harshly as being thrown into a pool full of freezing cold water. He was shaken and disoriented, and the world seemed fuzzy and backwards, as if he were standing on his head.

Someone was touching him. He still couldn't breathe.

"Let go," he mumbled, thrashing his arms around dazedly, "Don't- don't touch me...."

"Alfred," the hands and arms wrapped around him, now, cradling him as his limbs failed to work. "It's okay," a voice was saying, "It's okay, it's okay, it's just me. You're okay now, it's over, everything's fine...."

Alfred's breathing began to regulate itself, the world slowly beginning to make sense. He realized that he was shaking and drenched in sweat, and that Matthew was holding him. He moved to detach himself from the brother, and was hit with an immediate wave of dizziness and nausea.

He staggered to his feet, stumbled out into the heavy night air, and vomited into the grass.

When he was finished retching, Alfred took a moment to breath, taking in the fresh air that was still heavy with moisture from the storm, even though it had apparently passed, and small patches of brilliantly starry clear sky were beginning to show through the clouds.

The night was now incredibly quiet and still, the only exception being the soft, constant chirping of katydids, and...the sound of quiet sobbing coming from inside the tent.

Alfred ducked back under the opening flap, feeling numb, and saw that Matthew was curled in on himself, shaking with unsuppressed sobs. Alfred went and sat down on his sleeping bag and stared at his brother, mind still not functioning on a very useful level. He had begun to wonder if his brother had even noticed him reenter the tent, when Matthew finally managed to choked out, "You-you said t-things...oh god, Alfred, I'm sorry, I had no idea, I'm so sorry."

Alfred stared at him. Why would Matthew be sorry? It wasn't his fault.

For some reason, the only word he could convince his lips to form was, "Arthur."

Matthew looked up, eyes and face shining with moisture in the light of the lantern. "I-I'm sorry, Alfred, Arthur's not here. And I can't call him, we- we don't have any service, shit, I'm sorry, I don't know how to handle this." Matthew just wanted his Papa, just wanted to be held and protected, just wanted Alfred to be happy and healthy and safe, just wanted to have his family all together. 

Alfred blinked. His mind was still having trouble processing that Matthew knew, now. That someone finally knew.

After a moment of remaining huddled in a ball dejectedly, Matthew looked into his brother's eyes, and something inside of him woke up.

"Do you need some water?" he asked Alfred. He nodded, and Matthew got him some with desperate speed.

When Alfred settled back into his sleeping bag, Matthew drew himself close to his twin. "Is...is this okay?" he asked, wrapping Alfred in a steady embrace, and Alfred nodded, burying his face into Matthew's shoulder. 

And Alfred made a mental reminder to thank Matthew, as soon as he could find the words to do so.

~

"Ouch! Shit, I can't see a fucking thing," Arthur complained. Francis, who was stumbling along the path behind him, shifted the angle of his flashlight.

"Is that better?" he asked tiredly.

"...Yes, actually. Thank you," Arthur said, watching his feet carefully as he attempted to make his way through the dark woods.

Francis sighed, the sound weighted down with hours' worth of terrible worry. "I hope they are alright," he said for around the hundredth since the storm had started.

Arthur worried at his lower lip. "I'm sure they are...wait! Is that the campsite? Hey, bloody hell- Francis!"

But Francis had already broken into a run, tripping and stumbling the entire way to the site.

They both experienced a wave of intense relief when they saw that the tents were still standing, undamaged, in the field. Not wanting to wait a minute longer to see the boys, they jogged over to Alfred and Matthew's tent.

Before Francis could undo the two-way zipper, Arthur wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell hanging around the tent. "Uhg," he said, "Alfred must have thrown up his marshmallows."

Francis opened the flap, shining his flashlight into the tent. 

"Oh," he said quietly, face breaking into a smile when he saw them, curled around each other in the darkness, "That is just too sweet!"

The combination of noise and the light being shined on their faces caused Alfred and Matthew to slowly begin to stir, eyes blinking open in confusion.

"Wha..." Matthew mumbled, squinting up at Francis blearily. Then, after a moment, his face broke into a relieved grin, and he launched himself up and out of the tent to attack Francis with a hug. "Papa!"

Francis clung to Matthew, laughing a half-manic laugh. "Oh, Matthew, thank god you are safe. I was so worried."

Alfred was sitting up in the tent, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Hey...what's goin' on?" he slurred, "S'it, uh, is it breakfast time?"

Francis chuckled, and Arthur pushed him gently out of the way to get a good look at Alfred. "No, it isn't," he said, smiling with uncharacteristic warmth at his roommate, "It's about three o'clock in the morning."

"We are sorry it took us so long," Francis said earnestly, one arm still wrapped around Matthew's shoulder. "We had a few problems...."

Arthur snorted. "We tried to come and get you when the storm started, but Francis drove us straight into an enormous pothole full of water. We had to wait until the storm was over for someone to come   
and dig us out."

Francis pouted. "It was very difficult to see! The rain was coming down so hard."

Matthew looked disapproving. "I told you you shouldn't drive in bad weather, Papa."

"What were we supposed to do? We were terrified that the two of you were going to be struck by lightning, or hit by a falling tree." Francis exhaled, for a moment reliving the feeling of panic he had experienced through the whole ordeal. He gave Matthew a little squeeze. "But, you are safe now. I think that maybe it would be a good idea to go back to the cabin, and come back later for all of our things when it is light."

"Sounds good to me," Matthew said, eyes still half-closed, "You know, I love nature and everything, but I really wouldn't mind a bed, and clothes that aren't soaking wet."

"Yes," Francis agreed, yawning, "I'm sure you would not. But, first we must wake Alfred."

Only then did Matthew realize that loud snores were emanating from the tent. He peeked into it, seeing Alfred curled into himself in his sleeping bag, one hand relaxed into a loose fist near his serene-looking face. He looked like a child.

Matthew felt sick.

"I'll- I'll do it," he offered, with a note of conviction that seemed strange and out of place to Francis and Arthur. He stepped gently into the tent, bending down next to Alfred to shake his shoulder.

"Alfred," he whispered over the sound of Alfred's snores, "It's time to get up now."

"Mmmph."

Arthur rolled his eyes good-naturedly, before walking briskly over to the tent, reaching in, and grabbing Alfred by the arm. "Up you get," he said, voice straining with the effort of trying to pry Alfred from his sleeping bag.

Matthew was tempted to protest, thinking that Alfred was still delirious from sleep, and likely to be frightened, but restrained himself. It wasn't that he didn't want to explain what had happened a few hours ago to the two older men- in fact, he longed not to be alone in his thoughts about it, to be comforted and told what to do. But he didn't think that he was strong enough to form the words. They were too heavy, too evil...the sort of words that weren't supposed to be spoken.

Luckily, Alfred merely whined a bit before climbing to his feet with Arthur's assistance. He yawned widely, stretching his arms out like an eagle. 

"G'mornin'" he mumbled, eyes still glazed over, apparently oblivious to the fact that the sky was still a deep black.

Francis and Arthur laughed kindly at him, but Matthew remained silent, and he kept watchful eyes on his brother the entire way back to the cabin.

~

The small living room television was blaring. On the old patterned couch, Alfred and Matthew sat, both wrapped in blankets and sniffling. On a plush chair to the right of the couch sat Arthur, knees drawn up to his chest, a now lukewarm mug of tea in his hands, and a look of skeptical confusion on his face as he stared at the television. In the kitchen, Francis could be heard slaving away at what Alfred had named "Guilt Soup" the he had had to run to the nearest grocery store to by the ingredients for to help the boys recover from their difficult night. 

It was already four o'clock in the afternoon. After they had all managed to claw themselves out of the woods and drive back to the cabin, Matthew had suggested that they all stay up to watch the sunrise. It had been a nice thought- but they had all crawled up to their respective beds in defeat before the sky had even begun to show the first hint of light, and had slept for most of the day.

The movie Alfred and Matthew had chosen flickered on the screen, and Arthur continued to frown.

"This is a strange movie," he commented.

"Shh!" Alfred and Matthew both snapped.

There was a pause, but Arthur couldn't seem to let it go. "Why is it called 'The Goonies', though? Is that supposed to mean something?"

Alfred's eyes never left the screen. "It's like, you know, the boonies," he explained impatiently, stuffy nose noticeably affecting his speech, "The boondocks. Like, the middle of nowhere."

"Ah," Arthur said, taking a moment to appreciate the irony.

On the screen, Chunk was crying. "In fifth grade, I knocked by sister Edie down the stairs, and I blamed it on the dog...."

Alfred snorted. When he didn't hear a similar sound from his brother, he looked over to him, and saw that he had his cell phone out, and was clicking away at the buttons with a small smile on his face.

"Who're ya textin'?" Alfred teased, reaching over to make a grab at Matthew's phone.

"None of your business," Matthew said, calmly avoiding Alfred's arm. 

"It's Michelle, isn't it?" Alfred persisted.

"Maybe," Matthew said. But Alfred noticed that his brother's heart didn't seem to be into the bickering. 

Alfred was worried. He was worried about the way Matthew had been acting since they had returned; that he was being nice, but distant, almost the way he had treated Alfred when they had just been reunited all those weeks ago, and he hardly ever looked Alfred in the eyes. 

Alfred hoped that his brother would return back to normal soon. He decided that he would never talk to Matthew about that again. He had gone this far without anyone knowing- and he just had the persistent feeling that if they spoke about it, then it would scare Matthew away. That it would ruin what they had.

A few minutes later, Francis came into the living room with four huge mugs full of steaming soup, and the smell of chicken broth filled the room. 

"Be careful," Francis instructed as he handed mugs to everyone, "It is very hot."

And as Alfred sipped his soup, feeling the warmth fill him, he thought that he definitely didn't want to ruin this. Because, even when Matthew was snippy, or Arthur was mean, or Francis and Arthur abandoned them in the woods in a thunderstorm so that they could do it-even when everything was all a weird, confusing mess- it was still the best thing that Alfred had ever had. And being there, with   
all of them, was still the happiest that he had ever been.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone....so, I am literally leaving for college in 2 hours, but I really wanted to get this out before I left and things got hectic. (I'm a little iffy about this one...but I know I'm not supposed to say that kind of thing haha). But, on that note, I really don't know what my schedule is going to be like once I'm at school, so the update rate might change, although hopefully not too much. If you guys ever wanna check in to make sure I'm still alive, or send me a message to ask where I am, my tumblr url is just ameriphobia.tumblr.com. It's more likely that I'll see and answer those kinds of things quickly on there than in comments.
> 
> But anyway, I just realized that it's been about a year since I started working on this, and I just wanted to thank everyone for all of the support, all of the comments and kudos and general encouragement, and also to people who have been following this for a long time for being so patient with me- I know it's been a lengthy process, and I never would have gotten this far without you! You are all so very appreciated (:
> 
> My only notes regarding this chapter are that the warnings about mentions of Alfred's abuse still stands, although much less. And, also, I'm sorry....I'm just sorry.

Feliciano shifted slightly within his cocoon of warm, clean covers, his not-quite-conscious mind enjoying the smell of fabric softener, the feel of the linens, and the heavy sleepiness that was forcing his eyes to remain firmly shut against the morning daylight.

It took a moment for Feliciano's consciousness to surface enough for him to realize that there was an incredibly irritating sound coming from somewhere nearby, preventing him from returning to pleasant sleep. In response, he waved an arm around, as if he could swat the annoyance away. It seemed to work, because the noise stopped, and Feli felt a gentle hand pat him on the head.

"Sorry, Feliciano," said a gruff, but comforting, voice, "It's time to get up now."

Feliciano's mind slowly began to remember English words, and he turned over in the bed to bury his face into some part of Ludwig's body. "Why?" he whined, not yet able to remember any reason that his sleep should have been disturbed.

From above him, Feli heard Ludwig laugh deep in his chest, and slowly peeked open his eyes to look up at his boyfriend. Ludwig was sitting up in bed, usually tidy blond hair still ruffled from sleep, but otherwise already seeming awake and alert. Feliciano was always a little embarrassed at how easily Ludwig woke up, when he always looked and felt like a mess any time before two in the afternoon.  
Feli realized that he was resting his face on Ludwig's strong thigh, and picked his head up slightly to look at him. "Why do we have to get up now?" he asked again, with the slightest hint of frustration.

Ludwig kept a hand on Feliciano's head, fingers tangling slightly in his messy brown hair. "Because," he explained patiently, "It is almost eleven. I was going to take you out to breakfast this morning, remember? But all of the places will stop serving breakfast if we wait any longer."

Feli made a small, unhappy noise as he remembered their conversation the previous night, mentally yelling at his past self for agreeing to such stupid a thing. But he didn't protest beyond that, and when Ludwig slid out of the bed and headed for the kitchen, Feli forced himself to sit up.

He blinked as the light of the sun from the windows hit his face, bright and insistent. It was late August, and although the days remained hot, and the air heavy, the mornings had begun to hint at the fresh chill of Autumn. Feli couldn't be sure if it was just his imagination or not, but as he sat in bed, in Ludwig's air-conditioned and clinically sterile apartment, staring with bleary eyes at the crumbling roofs and water towers outside the large windows, he imagined that he could already feel the faint whisper of bright September mornings.

A few minutes passed, and soon Feliciano could feel his eyes beginning to slide shut once again. When Ludwig emerged from the kitchen, two cups of coffee in his hands, he sighed.

"Come on, Feli," he said as he sat back on the bed, nudging the Italian gently with the mug of coffee.

"Mmm," Feliciano forced his eyes open, taking the cup from Ludwig gratefully. "Thank you," he murmured, and Ludwig placed a small kiss on the top of his head.

Feli smiled slightly into his coffee. He loved the way that Ludwig was when it was just the two of them; when the uptight, gruff police officer who his brother was terrified of melted away and became a sweet, nurturing teddy bear. Feliciano also loved that no one else got to see this side of Ludwig. It felt like his little secret.

"I want to stop at home and get clean clothes before we go," he said quietly, in between little sips of coffee.

"Alright," Ludwig agreed, with an almost unnoticeable hint of hesitation. 

Feliciano smiled, leaning over to rest his head on Ludwig's shoulder contentedly.

Ludwig hummed in his chest. "Don't go back to sleep," he grunted, only half-serious. But Feliciano closed his eyes, allowing his cooling mug to rest in his lap, and beginning to let out slow, even breaths.

"Feliciano!"

Feli's eyes snapped open immediately, and he erupted into a fit of giggles. Ludwig tried to scowl at him, but couldn't quite manage it, one tricky corner of his mouth forcing itself upwards. 

Soon, he was laughing along with Feliciano.

~

Ludwig always tended to approach the Carriedo/Vargas household with a certain amount of uneasy caution. It might have been that the electrical work in the aging basement apartment was disconcertingly visible, with frayed wires sticking out menacingly at every turn, causing Ludwig to fear potential electrocution. It might have been that the apartment was disgustingly messy, and Ludwig had to constantly monitor his steps to avoid sticking his foot into a cup of drying paint or a bowl of melting ice cream. It very possibly might have been the unpleasant smell that, unless the three of them were keeping a skunk in a cage somewhere, made Ludwig feel once again like he was betraying his loyalty to the New York Police Department.

But, more than any of these things, Ludwig disliked visiting Feliciano's home because it was also home to Feliciano's brother, whose vindictive grudge against the police officer had only intensified since their first fateful encounter almost two months before.

The two of them cracked the door open gently, knowing that Lovino and Antonio were most likely still sleeping, as was their habit at this time of day. Feliciano even ceased his excited chatter as they crept into the apartment. Ludwig thought that Feli, although of course he never said anything, very possibly disliked the way his brother behaved as much as Ludwig did, and on this particular morning, it was obvious that he didn't want to risk another unpleasant incident that would lead him to apologize to his boyfriend repeatedly, insisting that Lovino didn't mean the things that he said.

Inside, Antonio and Lovino were sleeping, Lovino on a lone mattress without a frame, and Antonio on an old, ratty patterned couch. Lovino's mouth was gaping open as he lay spread eagled on the mattress, sheets wrinkled and tossed to the side. Antonio was snoring quietly, his long legs dangling over one arm of the couch. Because the apartment was in the basement of the building, there were no windows, and the noontime sun had no presence in the small room.

Ludwig always hated thinking that Feliciano lived in such a dark place. 

"I'll be right back," Feliciano whispered sweetly, getting up on his tiptoes to peck Ludwig on the cheek before dashing off into the second room. Ludwig knew that it was generally used for paintings and art supplies, but that there was also a dresser where Feliciano kept his clothes. 

Ludwig could still feel the lingering impression of Feli's lips on his cheek when he heard a soft snort and a grunt, followed by the drawn out groan of someone who wasn't pleased to realize that they were awake.

"Uhg. What are you doing here, bastard?" Lovino grunted, twisting his body around to look at the German, "Did you finally come to arrest me?"

Ludwig didn't look at Lovino. "Feliciano is in the other room."

Lovino snorted and, to Ludwig's relief, rolled over onto his side, reaching for the covers to draw them over his face. A moment later, Feliciano returned, looking brighter and more awake, and wearing skinny jeans, a colorful t-shirt, a light scarf, and a little clip in his hair. 

Ludwig's stomach turned over, because Feliciano was just so unbelievably adorable.

"Are you ready?" he asked, voice still lowered to a whisper.

"Yeah!" Feli chirped, grabbing hold of one of Ludwig's arms. As they headed for the door, he looked back over his shoulder. "Bye, Lovino!" he said quietly. Lovino only groaned in response.

Feliciano giggled, and Ludwig lead him out of the apartment, glad to be headed back out into the Summer sunlight.

~

When Francis stepped into his hotel room that morning, whistling easily, a bag of scones in his hand, and feeling immensely proud of his recent accomplishments, he was surprised to see that Arthur was not still sleeping in his bed, as he had expected. After a quick look around, Francis saw that the light was on in the bathroom, and that the door was cracked open slightly, looking to Francis like an open invitation.

So, naturally, he invited himself in.

The sight that greeted him nearly made him drop his bag, as he let out a sort of strangled snort of both shock and amusement.

"Well," he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe and smirking, "I have to say, Arthur, I think our little love affair is becoming more like "Pretty Woman" every day."

Arthur, who was reclining happily in the Jacuzzi tub, face flushed from the warm water, and bubbles reaching up to his neck, gave a slight start. Once he realized who it was that had interrupted him, he frowned at the intrusion.

"I'm not a prostitute, thank you very much," Arthur said haughtily. Then his eyes gave Francis a critical once-over. "And you're no Richard Gere, either."

Francis rolled his eyes, making his way over to the tub. "If by that you mean that I am younger and have better hair than he does, then yes, you are correct." He kneeled down by the side of the Jacuzzi, so that he was level with Arthur. The air around the tub smelled sweet and heavy from the steam. "I brought you breakfast," he said, holding up the bag in his hands. Arthur continued to look at him with narrowed eyes, whether from suspicion or sleepiness, Francis could not tell.

"You weren't here when I woke up," Arthur offered, apparently as an explanation for his current position.

"I am sorry," Francis said, rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. Arthur watched him with raised eyebrows. "You usually sleep much later."

"What were you doing?" Arthur asked, the question sounding very near to a demand.

Francis pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows at Arthur's prodding. "That is not any of your business," he said, reaching out to brush a bit of damp hair from Arthur's forehead. He ignored Arthur's unamused glare. "But I am glad that you are enjoying yourself."

And before Arthur could bite back, Francis, mostly as a method of distraction, moved to plunge his hands into the warm water, causing it to slosh around gently as he reached for Arthur's skin.

"Ah! Francis! Bloody hell," Arthur gasped, wriggling around in the tub, "Stop it, you idiot..."

"Do you still like Richard Gere more than me?" Francis smirked teasingly, moving his arm up and down in the water, forearm entirely hidden beneath the bubbles.

But Arthur seemed to be too relaxed from his self-pampering to continue their usual back-and-forth, and merely mumbled some incoherent phrases before laying his head back onto the soft towel he had laid down to cushion his neck. Francis found himself smiling unconsciously as he watched Arthur's eyes drift closed, and heard the almost unnoticeable hums of pleasure coming from his throat.  
Francis reached out his free arm, stroking Arthur's hair gently as he continued his impromptu underwater hand job.

Francis saw Arthur's adam's apple shift as the other man swallowed, but never did he open his eyes. Suddenly, the world was very quiet and still, the only exception being the gentle sound of the water hitting the walls of the Jacuzzi. 

Of course, the moment of peace couldn't last, and this was made resoundingly clear by the sudden, noisy eruption of bubbles that broke the silence. The force of the jacuzzi bubbles caused Arthur to be propelled up in the water, letting out a startled yelp, and Francis to fling himself away from the bathtub in an attempt to protect his clothing from the soapy water.

"Ahg...Francis! What did you do?" Arthur spluttered, the bubbles continuing to toss his body around like a raft on rapids.

Francis, now on his rear end on the hard tile, covered a snicker with one hand. "I must have hit something...."

Arthur seemed to find his balance, managing to steady himself as the water continued to rage around him. The sound from the jets was so overpowering that he had to raise his voice when he snapped, 

"You did this on purpose, you arsehole."

"I can assure you that I did not," Francis said, voice level, but mouth still straining around a second burst of repressed laughter. 

"Ugh," after a moment of blind fumbling, Arthur managed to locate the off switch for the jets, successfully rescuing himself from the embarrassing fate of drowning in the bathtub. As the water settled, the last few stray pockets of air rising to the surface, Arthur aimed a narrow-eyed glare at his companion.

Francis was now seated comfortably on the floor, arms resting on his knees in a relaxed position. "Do not look at me like that," he said when he caught wind of Arthur's expression, "It was an accident."

"Leave it to you to ruin a perfectly good moment," Arthur mumbled, but his tone had very little bite to it. By now, Francis had learned to distinguish when he was really in trouble, from when Arthur was just being difficult out of habit, and so he felt that it was safe enough to speak up.

"Well, it is probably for the best," he sighed, "You should start getting ready. Alfred and I have a little surprise for you."

Francis was genuinely impressed by the many shades of over exaggerated horror and disgust that Arthur was able to convey in one short facial expression. Really, the Englishman deserved an Oscar for the lengths he went to pretend to be repulsed by his very existence. "I have never heard a more terrifying combination of words in together in one sentence before in my entire life," Arthur said dryly.

Francis gave him a long suffering look. "It is a good surprise," he insisted, "I promise." Then he slowly began to make his way to his feet, grunting a little during the ascent. "But it is a little time sensitive, so...."

"Wait!" Arthur said suddenly, as Francis began to make his way to the door, "At least...at least finish what you started, wanker."

Francis paused, turning back to look at Arthur's perpetually scowling face with a knowing smirk. "Literally," he said, quirking up an eyebrow.

It took Arthur a brief moment, but soon enough a snort of laughter had escaped his lips before he could stop it. His laughter made Francis's body tingle slightly with surprise and delight, just as it usually did when he was given the rare opportunity to hear Arthur's laugh. 

"I'm just...surprised you know what that word means, is all," Arthur explained, still smiling slightly. 

Francis's face dissolved into a mildly offended expression. "Was that a comment on my English, Arthur?" 

Arthur blinked up at him. "What? No, I just...."

But Francis decided to take pity on the Englishman, reminding himself that today was supposed to be Arthur's day. "Never mind," he sighed, making his way back to the tub, and sinking to his knees on the tiled floor. "Just get out and sit on the edge. I do not want to get my shirt wet."

~  
If Arthur had been concerned about Francis and Alfred's "Little Surprise" after he had mentioned it that morning, then he was filled with complete and unbridled horror when he found himself blinded, out on the very public sidewalk, with Francis' long-fingered hands covering his eyes from behind. 

It was a grey, humid afternoon, and warnings of possible thunderstorms had been flashing on the televisions since early morning. But as of yet not a drop of rain had fallen, and people were still going about their regular weekday business as if nothing was coming, even though everyone knew as a collective consciousness that there was a storm brewing, and many people walked with small umbrellas tucked into their bags and briefcases.

A warm, unhelpful breeze caused Arthur's hair to tickle his forehead, feeling more aware of the small sensation as a result of having his vision stolen from him. Arthur scowled. Weather like this always gave him a headache.

Of course, Arthur had put up a fight, at first, flailing and growling like a feral cat in an attempt to shake Francis' hands from his eyes, until someone had threatened to call the police, and Arthur had reluctantly given up on making a scene.

"We are almost there," Francis said, sounding reserved even in his excitement. 

"I should hope so," Arthur grumbled. They were walking a bit slowly due to their awkward position, and the journey had felt like centuries long to Arthur.

"Stop complaining. It has barely even been five minutes," Francis said tranquilly. Then, there was a change, and Francis stopped walking, holding Arthur back by the head to prevent him from going any further. "Ah! We are here," he declared. Then he leaned forward to speak directly into Arthur's ear. "Are you ready for your surprise?"

"No," Arthur said simply, hearing the slight squeak of a door swinging open. Arthur wondered who was responsible, as Francis' hands were busy robbing Arthur of one of his most vital senses. Francis merely chuckled at Arthur's response.

"This way, come on," he urged, guiding Arthur through what he assumed was a doorway. The air around him immediately changed, becoming cooler and less heavy as he entered whatever building Francis had led him into.

A few tentative steps later, coupled with some twittering stifled laughter that Arthur had no trouble recognizing, and Francis was saying into his ear, "Are you ready?" voice laden with anticipation.

"Just get your bloody hands off me already," Arthur snapped, but really his curiosity was about to drive him over the edge. 

Suddenly, the world was revealed to Arthur once again, seeming much more bright and colorful than he remembered it. He blinked hard a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light as they attempted to take in his surroundings. 

He was standing in a medium-sized, brightly lit room, with tan hardwood floors and white walls. Several smaller rooms branched off from it, doors cracked open to reveal spaces the size of walk in closets. 

In the center of the room, all arranged neatly onto a square rug, was a Steinway piano, a microphone on a stand, a beautiful cherry red electric guitar attached to an amplifier, and a gleaming new set of silver drums. Matthew was sitting on the edge of the piano bench, smiling shyly, and Alfred was standing next to the drum set, expression shifting on a thin tightrope between proud and nervous, not yet sure which emotion to commit to.

When all Arthur did was stare at the setup in obvious confusion, Francis spoke up. "Ah, the piano and everything are just ours for today," he said, "But, the drums, they are yours to keep."

Arthur's stomach plummeted about twenty feet down past the hardwood floors of the music studio. 

When he still said nothing, Francis stuck his hands into his pockets anxiously, "I hope they are alright. We all had a very difficult time choosing them. Perhaps we should have just asked you, but, Alfred insisted that it should be a surprise...."

Arthur swallowed forcefully. "Francis..."he said, shaking his head slightly, not looking at the older man, "I can't accept this. This is too much. Shit, I always tell you not to...." Arthur trailed off, any words he had planned to speak crumbling under the weight of many emotions that he didn't understand, and a few that he did- anger, frustration, embarrassment. He wanted the drums, badly- he could already feel the sticks in his hands, the resonance of the bass thrumming in his chest. But he couldn't accept them. This was just Francis patronizing him. This was just Francis throwing his wealth around, deliberately showing Arthur that he could do things that Arthur himself was not capable of. 

Arthur stared at the ground, nearly shaking with humiliation and rage, until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Arthur," Francis said levelly, "I was not the only one responsible for this. It was Alfred's idea; he has been saving money for it since before we even met. I just gave the last little push."

At Francis' words, Arthur looked up, slowly, to where Alfred stood, looking confused and upset by Arthur's reaction to his gift. 

"You were hiding money from me?" Arthur said numbly. Alfred suddenly looked frightened.

"Only a little!" he protested, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, "Like, only a few bucks from every paycheck!" Alfred stared at him with wide blue eyes, swimming with hurt, "Do you not like them? Arthur? D'you...Arthur? Are you crying? Fuck...."

Francis let out a breath, features softening as he saw Arthur begin to tremble with sobs. "Oh, Arthur, mon ange, mon coer, it is alright...." He cooed, reaching out to envelope Arthur in a gentle hug. Arthur continued to cry onto his shoulder.

Alfred stared at them, still looking hopelessly lost. "So...you don't like them?" he asked, biting his lower lip nervously.

Arthur let out a strangled, almost hysterical laugh. "Of course I like them, you...." and then he went off into a series of muffled insults, still wrapped tightly in Francis' arms. Francis laughed, rubbing  
Arthur's back soothingly, and peeking over his head to smile at Alfred.

"Do not worry," he said, "He likes them."  
"Oh," Alfred said, immediately relaxing, but still appearing confused, "Uh, cool."

"Idiot," Arthur snapped, voice muffled by Francis' shoulder. 

Meanwhile, Matthew was still seated on the piano bench, smiling warmly at the events unfolding in front of them. Then he heard the series of clicking sounds that indicated a doorknob being turned.

"Um, guys..." he said, as Francis was still holding tightly onto the now sniffling Arthur, and Alfred's attention was entirely focused on the two of them. But his attempt at a warning was too quiet to reach them, and soon the front door of the studio was flung open, causing Arthur to fling himself away from Francis immediately, wiping his eyes.

Antonio peeked into the room, the strap of his guitar case across his chest, and looking sheepish. 

"Sorry, ah, is this a bad time?" he asked, looking ready to close the door and run. But Francis shook his head, smiling kindly at the new arrival.

"No, not at all. Come in!" he said. When Arthur looked at him in confusion, he added, "We rented the studio for a few hours so that you could play together again. I hope that is okay...."

Before Arthur could respond, it suddenly became apparent that Antonio was not the only person who had been invited to the surprise jam session. Trailing in after the guitarist was Michelle, Kiku, Lovino, Feliciano (with Ludwig in tow), and Laura. 

"I invited everyone else!" Antonio declared, "They all wanted to hear you play, Arthur."

Arthur looked like he was a moment away from fainting, vomiting, and punching Antonio in the face all at the same time. Francis observed the changing of Arthur's complexion from its natural pasty white to a much more alarming shade of green with concern, but Alfred didn't notice, and bounced up and down with excitement at the new development. 

"Awesome!" he cheered, "It's gonna be like a concert."

"That's what we came for," Laura said, winking at the speechless Arthur.

"Yeah, Artie," Michelle said, "Give us a show. And not the usual kind...."

Arthur stared at them in wide-eyed horror. "I..." he floundered, "I, I can't play for all of you! I haven't played in years, I don't even know if I remember how!"

"Sure ya do, man," Alfred said confidently, striding over to give Arthur an encouraging clap on the back. "It's like, riding a bike, or whatever. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Arthur shook his head. "But I...but...."

Meanwhile, Antonio had wandered over to the other instruments, eyeing the handsome electric guitar with interest. "Hey, do I get to use this?" he wondered, perking up in excitement when Francis gave him a nod. 

"Hey!" Feliciano said, "Maybe, if we all don't look at Arthur, he'll feel better!" He then proceeded to turn himself so that he was facing the nearest wall, leaving Ludwig to watch him with a tired sigh.

"No, man, look," Alfred said, going over to the drum set himself and taking a seat on the stool, "It's easy, see?" And then he began pounding the drums with excessive brutality, filling the room with the thunderous sounds of rhythm-less bangs and clashes. Next to him, Matthew winced, reaching up to cover his ears with his hands.

Arthur snapped. "No, no, stop. Stop it!" he yelled over the din, dashing towards Alfred and all but ripping the drumsticks out of his roommate's hands.

The room filled with silence, the absence of Alfred's ruckus leaving a noticeable void. Everyone in the studio stopped talking, looking over to where Arthur stood, holding his drumsticks protectively like newborn children, and glowering down at Alfred with accusatory rage.

Alfred blinked up at him, stunned. "Oh," he said, after a moment, "Uh, sorry." When Arthur continued to glare at him, he stood up from the stool, stepping away slowly, head down like a chastised animal.

Arthur closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath in order to steady himself. "It's fine, Alfred," he said, "Just...just, don't do that."

"Please," Lovino said irritably, still rubbing his ears, "I think my eardrums fucking exploded, asshole."

Alfred muttered a series of non-committal words under his breath that could have been anything from insults to apologies. Meanwhile, Arthur heaved a dramatic, resigned sigh.

"Alright," he muttered, purposely avoiding the eyes of everyone in the room, "If you all are really so keen on hearing me play, then I suppose I'll give it a go." Everyone began to cheer, but Arthur cut them off by snapping, "But I'm not making any promises! It'll probably sound like a sack of shit...."

"Don't be silly, Arthur!" Antonio said as he fiddled with the knobs on the electric, on leg on the amplifier, "You’ll be amazing! We'll start with a Pistols song or something. I'm sure you will remember."

Arthur didn't say anything in response, but merely took his seat on the small stool and began situating himself. Around him, all of his friends were dashing off to the practice rooms, looking for chairs and benches to bring in and sit on.

Once everyone was seated and comfortable (with a few special adjustments having been made due to the lack of seating, with Feliciano happily placing himself on Ludwig's lap, and Matthew sitting on the floor at Michelle's feet) Antonio walked over to Arthur and began whispering in his ear. Arthur made a few sounds of agreement, nodding, and soon they were ready to start.

When Antonio started playing, and Arthur picked up his sticks and attempted to start the beat he had known since he was a teenager, at first he faltered, mumbling "shit," under his breath. But they started over, and soon Arthur was keeping up with his oldest friend with ease, feeling himself begin to get lost in the beat of "God Save the Queen". He supposed that Alfred had actually been right- it was like riding a bike, in a way. It was almost as if his muscles had remembered what to do, even if his brain had needed a little reminding.

When the song was over, Arthur simply sat in slightly stunned silence, face flushed with pleasure. The song lingered in his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that everyone was clapping for them. 

"See, Arthur," Antonio said, grinning widely at being able to play with his old band mate again, "What did I tell you?"

"Yeah, dude, that was awesome!" Alfred cheered, and Arthur was taken aback by the sparkle in his friend's blue eyes. He swallowed hard, looking away even as the others all threw their own compliments into the mix. The only one who didn't say anything was Francis, who merely caught his eye with such an adoring but somehow still teasing expression on his face that Arthur had to duck his head in embarrassment.

"Now, now, everyone," Antonio said, "Don't all crowd around him at once! We've still got a show to do."

Arthur laughed at Antonio acting like he was a celebrity, and just at the whole situation in general. He was used to crowds, and used to attention- but not anything like this, with all of his friends watching him do something that he loved and was proud of.

After a few more songs, Arthur was struck with an idea, and beckoned Antonio over so that he could mumbled something into the guitarist's ear. Antonio grinned and nodded, going over to take a seat with the guitar resting on his leg. Moments later, he began playing a quiet melody, Arthur joining in with a recognizable beat on the high-hat. 

Rat tat-a-tat, tat, tat, tat, rat tat-a-tat tat, tat, tat....

From his seat in the audience, Alfred began bouncing up and down with excitement once he recognized the song. 

"This is my favorite!" he burst out loudly, causing the others to shush him. But Arthur smiled to himself as he continued to play, and Antonio began to sing the first verse. 

"There is a house  
In New Orleans  
They call the Rising Sun.  
And it's been the ruin  
of many a poor boy,  
And God, I know I'm one."

Alfred mouthed the words along with Antonio, and tapped his foot along with the drum beat, proving that his sense of rhythm was at least not as bad as his singing voice. He thought about the first time Arthur played The Animals for him, years ago, when he had been curled up and shaking in their apartment, and Arthur had introduced him to all of his music in an attempt to distract him from the awful cravings. From the moment he had heard this song, he'd liked the different, bluesy sound, and it had remained his favorite of all of Arthur's music.

"Oh Mother, tell your children  
Not to do what I have done  
Spend your lives  
In sin and misery  
In the House of the Rising Sun"

There were some parts that didn't sound quite right, because the only instruments being used were a guitar and a set of drums, but Alfred thought that it was just fine. When the song was already nearing its end, he bent down to where Matthew was seated on the floor, whispering, "D'you know this one, Mattie?" 

"Yeah, Al," Matthew said, rolling his eyes at his brother. But Alfred just shrugged, going back to focusing on the song that Arthur had chosen for him.

"Well, I got one foot on the platform  
The other foot on the train  
I'm goin' back to New Orleans  
To wear that ball and chain."

Before the song could fully reach its end, the music was interrupted by a high pitched beeping sound that had Ludwig scrambling for his pants pocket and apologizing profusely. 

"I am so sorry, how rude of me, I'm sorry," he mumbled, pale face tinting pink as the music came to an abrupt halt, and everyone's attention turned to Ludwig.

"That is pretty rude, jerk," Lovino spat, "Don't you know to turn your phone off when someone's performing?"

Ludwig finally managed to extract his phone without removing Feliciano from his lap. "Yes, of course! And, I would have, it's just-" And then Ludwig stared at his phone, eyes widening in sudden panic. 

"Scheiße!" He looked at Feliciano, who appeared confused and alarmed by his boyfriend's behavior. "Liza is having the baby!"

Feliciano gasped in delight, hopping off of Ludwig so that he could express his excitement by dancing around. 

"What's going on?" Arthur asked curiously, setting his drumsticks down with excessive gentleness. 

"It's my sister- my, my sister-in-law," Ludwig stuttered, standing up from his chair and still gripping his phone like a lifeline, "She is having a baby, uh, right now."

Feliciano continued bouncing around like an over stimulated toddler. "Ludwig's going to be an uncle!" he proclaimed, smile barely fitting on his small face.

"Mon Dieu," Francis said, turning to Ludwig in surprise, "Go, then!"

"Right! Of course, I...Feliciano, are you coming? Yes, you can...Okay...please stop bouncing...."

Ludwig tripped over his own chair a little on his way towards the studio door, but he and Feliciano eventually got there without injury. Before they left, there was a chorus of "Congratulations!" from most of the group, and Ludwig paused to thank them. Then, they sprinted out the door, off to catch a cab to the nearest hospital.

~

Six hours later found the previously excited duo looking more bored and anxious than anything, sitting in the hospital waiting room with drawn faces, and Ludwig tapping his foot anxiously as they waited for news.

Feliciano had long since ceased his bouncing, and was apparently napping on Ludwig's shoulder, small breaths coming out slow and even. But then he spoke, surprising Ludwig enough to shake him out of his worried thoughts, if only for a quick second.

"Ludwig?" Feliciano asked drowsily.

"Yes?" Ludwig grunted, unconsciously keeping his voice down to match the numb, sterile quiet of the surrounding hospital.

It took a moment for Feliciano to speak again, and for a moment Ludwig thought that he had gone back to sleep. But then he sighed gently, seeming to remember what he had wanted to say, and asked, "How long do babies usually take?"

Ludwig rubbed his eyes, trying to shake some of the mindless stupor that had resulted from sitting in a quiet, florescent room for hours had found him in. "I...think it is always different," he said, "I think that it can take a long time."

"Hm," Feliciano sighed, shifting himself on Ludwig's shoulder in search of a more comfortable position, "I hope everything's okay."

"So do I," Ludwig said, allowing some of his worry to show through in his voice. Feliciano must have noticed, because he reached over and took a hold of Ludwig's strong hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"It will be fine," he assured, voice still sleepy, but sure, "Elizabeta is strong."

Ludwig gave a small smile, stroking Feliciano's hand absently. In the corner of the waiting room, a television was playing the evening news, but the hospital had it muted, so that it did nothing to cut through the suffocating silence in the space. On the wall opposite from Ludwig was an impressionist painting that almost reminded him of something that Feli would paint. He didn't like it nearly as much as his boyfriend's paintings, though.

Their only company in the waiting room was a quiet old couple, who were sitting next to each other, holding hands as well. Occasionally, Ludwig would accidentally meet one of their eyes, the back of his mind still sometimes telling him to check if people were staring at him and Feliciano. But Ludwig forced those thoughts away, thinking that the couple probably had much bigger things to worry about.

Upon looking at them, though, a strange thing happened to Ludwig. He had an impulsive thought, and, even more unusually, turned it into an impulsive action.

"Feliciano," he asked, a surprised, curious tone to his voice.

"Yes?" 

Ludwig swallowed, suddenly nervous. "I was just wondering, ah...would you, like to come live with me?"

Feliciano turned his head go gaze up at Ludwig with curious brown eyes. "Like...bring all of my stuff to your apartment?" he asked in wonder. When Ludwig nodded, Feliciano immediately at up straight, bouncing around in his seat in excitement. "Yes!" he said happily, moving in to give Ludwig a quick peck on the lips, "Of course I want to!"

Ludwig beamed. Across from them the old man was staring intently down at his lap, but the woman gave him a slight smile.

Before the two could make any further plans, a familiar figure burst through the tan double doors, looking disheveled and red in the face, but also giddy with happiness, covered from head to toe in light green scrubs.

"Roderich!" Ludwig said, jolting to his feet in a second.

"It is a girl," Roderich beamed, "We are calling her Sasha."

"What a pretty name!" Feli chirped, coming to stand next to Ludwig. 

Roderich nodded, "Thank you. Well, come on, I am sure she wants to meet her uncle."

He led them down the hallway and into their little room, where Elizabeta was sitting in the bed, her hair up in a large, messy bun, her face shining with sweat, looking exhausted but happy. In her arms, occasionally emitting small noises, was Ludwig's tiny newborn niece.

"Ooooh," Feliciano almost squealed, "She's so beautiful!" 

Elizabeta looked up at him, noticing the new arrivals for the first time, having been preoccupied with her daughter. When she heard him, though, she smiled warmly. "Thank you, Feli," she said, eyes twinkling. Then she turned to Ludwig, who was standing in the doorway, staring at the child, obviously unsure of how to proceed. "Well?" she asked, a slight teasing note to her voice, "Don't you want to hold your niece?"

Ludwig stared at her, making no move other than continuing to blink and breathe. "I...can I?" he asked.

Elizabeta rolled her hazel eyes. "Of course you can! Come here." 

Ludwig stepped forward tentatively, reaching his arms out to take the little swaddled bundle as if he had suddenly forgotten how his own arms were supposed to work. When Liza placed little Sasha in his arms, she gave a small sound somewhere between a squeak and a whine. Ludwig looked up at Elizabeta with panic in his eyes.

"See?" he said, "She wants you, I shouldn't...."

Liza sighed, leaning her head back and allowing her eyes to drift shut in exhaustion. "She's fine, Luddy. Just relax."

Ludwig looked down at his newborn niece, seeing that she had settled down, and was beginning to close her own tiny, almost translucent eyelids as she lay wrapped in his strong arms. He could feel the warmth coming from her tiny body on his chest, and stared in fascination at her little curled fingers.

Feliciano put a hand on his arm, watching the baby with a similar, awed expression. After a moment, Ludwig got nervous again, realizing how small and fragile Sasha felt in his arms, and bent down to give the baby back to her mother.

Ludwig cleared his throat in the sudden silence. "So, ah, do our parents know?" 

Roderich gave Ludwig a patronizing glare, but Ludwig noted that it wasn't his best, and supposed that he was a little too preoccupied with becoming a father to mock his brother properly. Even when he spoke, his eyes never left his wife and Sasha. "Of course they do," he said, "Our mother kept me on the line for over an hour...and it's so expensive to call them in Germany. We really should get one of those international plans, or something...."

Elizabeta gave her husband a mildly annoyed look. "I just did all this work to give birth to your child and this is what you worry about?" She sighed, too tired for the criticism to have any real bite. 

"I'm just saying...." Roderich defended, but was soon rescued by the sound of his buzzing phone. He looked at it, then heaved a sigh. "Speaking of family," he said, Gilbert just pulled in outside."

"He came?" Ludwig said, surprised that his oldest brother drove in all the way from upstate.

"We told him he didn't have to, but he insisted, of course. I think he interpreted it as us not wanting him there, and that made him want to come even more." Roderich looked less than enthusiastic about Gilbert's persistence. 

Feliciano, however, clapped his hands. "That means I finally get to meet him!" he exclaimed.

Ludwig looked slightly ill. This was one introduction he had hoped to put off as long as the universe allowed. Apparently, the universe had decided that his time was up.

"Ludwig, can you go get him?" Roderich asked distractedly. When Ludwig gave him an apprehensive look, he rolled his eyes. "My daughter was just born, Ludwig. If I leave, she might forget who I am."

Feliciano giggled. "Come on, Ludwig! I want to meet him."

Ludwig sighed, closing his eyes as if bracing himself for what was to come. "Okay," he said, "Fine."

After a few minutes of weaving through the labyrinth of brightly lit, white hallways, the two found themselves back out on the sidewalk near the hospital's main entrance. After a few minutes of looking around for Ludwig's brother, a familiar voice called out to them.

"Hey, little brother!" Gilbert said, sauntering over to them with a smirk, his hands in his dark-colored jeans. 

"Gilbert," Ludwig said, voice forcibly controlled, the distorted sound of a car horn wizzing by almost covering up his words entirely, "It's nice that you could come."

“Are you kidding? I would not miss it,” Gilbert said, and Feliciano noticed that his words were a little rougher and more heavily accented than those of his two younger brothers, probably because he had been older when they had moved to New York. Feliciano also noticed that when Gilbert came over to greet his brother, he extended an arm out to embrace him, which Feliciano quietly appreciated from his outside perspective. He had begun to believe that the Beilchemidts were a strictly no-hugging type of family, and that type of family always made Feliciano sad. Even he and Lovino hugged sometimes, even if Lovino was usually drunk when it happened.

When Gilbert pulled away from an uncomfortable looking Ludwig, Feliciano was surprised to see his attention shift away from his brother, turning to Feliciano instead. For a moment, Gilbert’s eyes seemed to appraise him, and Feliciano was surprised and slightly intimidated by the slight reddish tint to the older man’s eyes, a strange color that he had never seen before.

But, after a brief second, understanding came into Gilbert’s eyes, and he grinned, the expression not entirely without mischief. 

“So,” he said to Ludwig, “This is your boyfriend, right?” Ludwig nodded, but not before blushing and swallowing and generally looking like a student who had been called on but who hadn’t been paying attention to the lecture.

Gilbert continued to smirk, the expression somewhere between genuinely, inordinately pleased and a gentle, I-used-to-hold-you-down-and-tickle-you-until-you-cried kind of teasing.

“Well, it’s great to meet you,” he said, reaching out to grasp Feli’s delicate hand in a brisk handshake, “I’ve heard a lot about you. Not from Luddy, of course. He doesn’t tell me shit.” He paused to send  
Ludwig an irritated glare, “We always thought he was going to be the ‘Dies alone in his apartment full of small dogs’ kind of guy. But I guess he was just gay this whole time.”

Ludwig made a short, startled grunting sound at his brother’s blunt statement, but Feli just laughed his little twinkling laugh and said, “We were just talking about wanting to get a dog, someday.”

Gilbert’s eyebrows twitched in an upward direction, and Ludwig cleared his throat loudly, not quite ready to reveal the change in his and Feli’s living situation to the entire world. Instead, he steered the subject into safer waters.

“So, uh, how is the shop?” he interjected hastily, referring to the auto repair shop where Gilbert made his living upstate. “Is everything going well?”

Gil gave his brother a pointed look, obviously aware of Ludwig’s intentions, and sighed. “Yes, everything is fine. But, why don’t we go and see this baby? I want to know if it’s worth all of the excitement.” 

Ludwig nodded, and as they began to make their way back into the hospital, Gilbert’s eyes filmed over with a distant, dreamy expression. “I bet Liza looks beautiful. Surrounded by the glow of motherhood….”

Ludwig looked disapproving, but entirely unsurprised, at his brother’s words. “That is very inappropriate,” he said flatly.

Gilbert just waved him off with a laugh. “I missed you, little brother. We should all get together more often.”

Ludwig’s grumbled response, although unintelligible, did not sound positive, but Gilbert ignored it as they made their way back to the hospital room where their newborn nephew was resting. 

~

Arthur had long since given up the hobby of contemplating the embarrassing naïveté of his younger self. In fact, it had been years upon tired years since he had gone through the previously rote and purposeless ritual of bringing himself back to the eighteen-year old boy from a London suburb who saved his money and hopped on a plane to New York the instant he got the chance, with the intention of finding a place that would accept him, and of putting an ocean between himself, and a family that never had.

Arthur had put that boy behind him, had shed him like a skin that was too small- or rather, too big, because in some ways he felt that he had shriveled inside of it, withered under the weight of bar fights he shouldn’t have started and cold winters that he wouldn’t have survived without the option of Antonio’s couch, the kindness of people who could have left him alone to die at the flip of a coin. The years had ripped away Arthur’s former self like sandpaper, smoothed out the edges of rebellion and dangerous clubs and cheap black nail polish like a rock in a stormy and unforgiving ocean, because reality exists whether you’re a student in London or a punk in New York, and nature has a way of punishing mistakes like no mother or father ever could. Because a raging fever that seemed to last for months and a trip to a clinic that felt like an earthquake had taught him and Antonio that invincibility was for comic book characters, and that a lifetime of thoughtless action is rarely met without consequence. Because he had been forced to learn quickly that sometimes growing up meant learning to prioritize, coolly and efficiently, without sentiment. That sometimes, it meant doing things you thought you’d never do, and giving up things you never thought you would. It meant realizing that no, you’re not Jim Morrison or Kurt Cobain, that living fast and dying young is a coward’s way out, and that sometimes, eating comes first. Having a roof over your head comes first. Taking care of the people you love comes first, and that some passions are a luxury that not everyone can afford. That sometimes “Sellout” was just a nasty term for someone who had chosen survival over vanity. And that even though you might lose a part of yourself with every step that you take, eventually you start to gain something new- something harder. Something that might be similar to the feeling of muscles growing taut and strong against a current that is constantly trying to finish you, and the knowledge that you’re the only one keeping yourself from drowning, and you’re doing it.

But now, sitting in a room with all of his friends, playing music with an effortless, serene type of concentration, Arthur no longer felt as if he was putting every fiber of his being into keeping himself above water. He no longer felt so exhausted that he could spare no effort for anything that wasn’t directly paramount to his and Alfred’s survival. It was liberating, and his lungs took great breaths of easy air, relaxing into the notion of allowing himself to simply exist for the first time after three years of strenuous pretending.

After almost two hours, a lull in the performance gave Francis a platform to speak and be heard. 

“There is not much time left,” he said, a light, involuntary smile etched onto his face, from both the success of his present and from watching Arthur play. When he spoke, Arthur looked up, broken out of the hazy trance of being surrounded by nothing but his own music. “We only have a few minutes left until we have to leave,” Francis explained.

“Aaw,” Alfred groaned, flipping his body around in his chair in childish, undignified ways, but grinning nonetheless. 

“Don’t worry, Alfred,” Antonio said brightly, “I am sure we’ll get a chance to do this again sometime.”

“Of course we will,” Arthur agreed, flipping his slightly dampened bangs out of his eyes with a new type of rock star flourish that had Francis covering a blush with what he hoped was a mocking smirk.  
Apparently it was effective, because Arthur caught his eye and glared, ears reddening. 

Alfred didn’t notice the exchange. “Well, you’d better not do it when I’m tryna sleep,” he warned. 

“Oh, really? Or what?” Arthur teased. Alfred groaned loudly, obviously beginning to question his judgment on buying Arthur the drum set.

“Well, it was great to hear the two of you play,” Michelle said, smiling warmly, “Thanks for inviting us.”

Lovino yawned a large, overdramatic yawn. “Yeah, it was great. But let’s get out of here. I have important things to do.”

Laura gave him a skeptical look. “Like what?” she asked.

“Like sleep,” Lovino said frankly, leaning back in his chair in order to appear even more lethargic.

“We will need to take the drums apart so that we can carry them to the apartment,” Francis said. Everyone groaned, and Francis smirked. “We will not need all of you. The four of us should be enough.”

The rest all relaxed, starting to pick themselves out of their chairs and put them where they belonged. Meanwhile, Antonio removed the borrowed guitar from his shoulder with a regretful expression, and moved to give Arthur a brisk pat on the back.

“That was fun, huh? I never thought I would get to play with you like that again.”

Arthur smiled, the slightest touch of sadness in his eyes as he regarded his old friend. “Neither did I, honestly.” And his gratitude for being given the opportunity was evident somewhere in his voice, enough that even Alfred was able to pick up on it as he struggled to lift the bass drum over his head with a grunt.

“You’re welcome!” he chimed, peeking his head around the drum to shoot Arthur a smile that was just a little too smug to be entirely genuine, before momentarily losing his balance and stumbling backwards with a “Whoa!”

Arthur sighed, “Be careful, you idiot.”

“I got it, I got it. Don’t worry,” Alfred assured him, even as his feet performed an elaborate, awkward dance in an attempt to sturdy himself.

“We should probably get going before Alfred breaks everything,” Francis said cheekily. Everyone started to leave. Matthew gave Michelle a brief kiss goodbye, and Alfred wolf-whistled, the effect slightly dampened by the fact that it looked like his head had been replaced by a large bass drum.

“Was it really alright?” Arthur said, very quietly, to Francis as they walked out onto the street together. Francis smiled at his uncertainty, reveled in the moment of Arthur showing vulnerability, rare and beautiful, and thought that, overall, today had been a wonderful sort of day. In fact, Francis suddenly had the thought that he could watch Arthur have a nice day, even if he himself wasn’t a part of it, and still be happy. But he stopped himself- Francis knew himself well enough by now that he knew when he was coming dangerously close to waxing poetic. And when his mind began to meander down that dangerous path, he knew that his mouth very often followed.

So he simply answered Arthur’s question with a wink and a smile, leaning in just close enough to his ear to be flirtatious. “You were fantastic,” he whispered, and he meant it. When a delicate red flush crept over Arthur’s skin and he scowled the happiest scowl that Francis had ever seen, Francis cursed the fact that he was prevented from holding and stroking Arthur’s hand by the fact that he had a crash symbol in one hand and a high-hat in the other.

“Hey, whatcha whisperin’ about over there?” Alfred called, only to stumble into a fellow pedestrian, causing them to cry out in anger, and Alfred to nearly loose his balance once again. Matthew cried an apology for his brother over his shoulder, but of course it was too quiet and hesitant for the stranger to hear.

“We were just talking about the four of us all going out to dinner,” Francis called back to him.

“Oh. Awesome,” Alfred said, never one to feel negatively about being given a solid meal. For the past month and a half, all of them going out to dinner had become something of a regular occurrence. It was something that they could all do together, and dinner time was always after Alfred had gotten off work, and before Arthur started. And of course, it was a way for Francis to inadvertently help out, even though Alfred and Arthur always contributed what they could.

“But, uh,” Alfred continued, “D’you think we could get rid of these drums first?”

Arthur looked over his shoulder to give him a patronizing look. “No, I think we’re going to go into a restaurant with them.”

Alfred maneuvered himself until enough of his face was visible that he could stick his tongue out at Arthur.

And Arthur, not minding the slight drizzle beginning to fall, or the growing ache in his arms, laughed.

~  
Another continually repeating pattern that had emerged in Francis’ life since he had come to New York was the instance of casually following Arthur whenever he went outside for a cigarette. With this, he had several worries- one being that Matthew was not at all stupid enough to believe that Francis was just chatting with Arthur in these instances (honestly, how did his child always manage to make him feel like the child?), and the second being that, by entering what he understood to be much-treasured personal time for Arthur, he was pushing some kind of boundary. But, then again, Francis hadn’t gotten this far by never pushing his limits, and he enjoyed how relaxed and agreeable Arthur was during these encounters, possibly from the slightly sedative effects of nicotine, or maybe just from the lack of people to pester him. So, he allowed himself to work his way back towards a heavy smoking habit, simply for the chance to hover around Arthur and make idle conversation. In Francis’ mind, the risks far outweighed the benefits.

Particularly now, outside of the restaurant, a nervous question already on Francis's lips.

Francis swallowed forcibly, attempting to force down saliva that was suddenly non-existent in his dry throat, as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. In the vicinity, there were always at least a few people doing the same, leaning against brick walls or sitting on stairwells, taking a momentary pause from the chaos of life to indulge in their shared habits. It seemed the smell of smoke and dust was as pervasive as the sounds of honks and shouting on the dirty city streets.

“I have been smoking more than I have in years, thanks to you,” was the first thing that Francis managed to say- half a jab, half a commendation. You’re a bad influence on me, but I don’t care. You’re worth the smoke in my lungs.

Francis’ carefully placed nuance seemed to go over Arthur’s head, as ever, and he answered with a blunt snort, simultaneously withdrawing his cigarette from his mouth to release a languid flow of white.

“Never thought I’d be lectured about smoking by a Frenchman,” he said.

Francis responded with the half-hearted quirk of his mouth, a laugh that never quite made it. He looked down at his feet, wondering why this was so difficult. It wasn’t as if he had ever struggled to convey his feelings in the past.

“Arthur…” he began, the sudden change in his voice causing Arthur to give him a suspicious look from the corner of his eye.

Francis breathed. “Matthew is going to be starting school again soon,” he said, entering the conversations lowly, dipping his foot in the water.

There was a catch, then, in Arthur’s eyes- a momentary pause, like he was slamming on the breaks, realizing where this was going. When he started up again an instant later, he simply nodded, looking every bit the picture of nonchalance.

He wasn’t looking at Francis, and Francis took the opportunity to study him, a bit, eyes flickering over his face. “And, of course, I will be going back to Canada,” he said carefully, giving a bit of time to allow Arthur to respond, and continuing only when he didn’t, “I need to get back to my life, now. It has been almost two months.”

Arthur nodded, no surprise on his face, no anger, nothing. Just a moment of suspended emotion that made Francis tense with nervousness, but also with excitement, to think that Arthur didn’t yet know what he was going to say…what he was going to ask. For a moment, it flittered across his mind that perhaps he was being cruel; but, at the same time, he knew that he needed to be delicate. Slowly, slowly.

Arthur’s next contribution surprised Francis. “So, I suppose…you’ll be asking him…..”

It took Francis a moment of confusion to understand that Arthur was talking about Alfred. When he realized, he smiled gently. “Oh, yes,” he said, “In fact, Matthew and I decided that we are going to bring it up to him tonight.”

Arthur nodded, the movement quick and stiff. “Like we talked about,” he said, and there was a quiver, the slightest hint of emotion in his voice that made Francis feel ill. He realized that Arthur was sad.

Suddenly, Francis cared very little about delicacy. 

“I would like for you to come with us,” he said hurriedly, and the words felt like jumping off a cliff. He waited for Arthur to say something that would catch him.

Arthur frowned. He stepped on his cigarette butt. He looked at Francis.

“What?” he asked, almost harshly.

Francis smiled, thinly, trying to appear confident and warm, because this was supposed to be good thing. This was supposed to be a moment that they remembered for a long time or maybe for their whole lives, and Arthur was supposed to be smiling too, but Francis tried not to find that too troubling because Arthur didn’t smile half of the times he was happy anyway.

“I am asking you to move in with me,” Francis clarified. He probably should have been a little bit more explicit- maybe then Arthur wouldn’t be looking at him with such a stunned, confused, almost appalled expression….

“I know what you said,” Arthur affirmed, before shaking his head a few times, as if clearing it. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind, Francis.”

Francis stared at him, the feeling of sick disappointment rushing through his body, setting him off balance. “But….”

Arthur finally looked up to meet Francis’ eyes. “My life is here, Francis. I can’t just pack up and go to bloody Canada with you on a moment’s notice,” he shook his head again, “Alfred…that’s different. He  
needs to go to school, he needs to be with his family. But this is just…insane.”

Francis blinked rapidly. Oh, but this was Arthur’s favorite game, wasn’t it? He loved to jerk him around, but in the end, he always gave in….

“But what about you?” Francis asked, starting to become angry. Now was not the time for games. “Do not tell me that you want to live like this for the rest of your life.”

Francis knew it was the wrong this to say the moment he saw Arthur’s lip begin to curl, just slightly, the way it always did when Francis had crossed the line- the line that was apparently invisible, illusive and constantly changing, like a trip wire.

They were out on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant, so Arthur didn’t raise his voice, but there was something terrifying about the controlled anger that existed just under the surface when he spoke,  
“Live like what, Francis? Do you think there’s something wrong with my life?”

Francis took a breath, knowing that any step he took had the possibility of digging him further into his grave. “Stop this, Arthur. You are just being disagreeable on purpose.”

Arthur barked a humorless laugh. “Oh, yes. I’m being disagreeable, for no reason, when you insult the way I live, and you just expect me to drop everything and move to different country just because of some stupid fling-”

Francis gaped at Arthur, the words hitting him square in the chest, stunning him. It was a struggle for him to keep himself together. Arthur, meanwhile, didn’t meet his eyes, but was staring out onto the sidewalk with a hard expression, the words ‘I won’t take it back’ etched onto his features.

“You do not think that…that is was this was?” Francis asked. He knew that he was wearing his heart on his sleeve, knew how hurt and vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn’t control it, would never be quite as good at mystery as Arthur was. Secretly, he hoped that this would work to his advantage, that whatever pity Arthur had left in his cold heart would be moved, and that he would be saved.

But Arthur still wouldn’t look at him. “What else would it be?” he said, almost calmly, “You came to a new city for a short time, found a young stripper you could sleep with, bought him plenty of nice trinkets…and now you’re leaving. Like you knew you were going to have to.”

And maybe it was Francis’ imagination, but he thought that he could hear something in Arthur’s voice- something strained and struggling, something akin to what Francis was feeling himself. “That is not true, and you know it.”

Arthur stared out onto the street, which was glistening with a gentle, mist-like spray of rain. His eyes were glazed and unfeeling, as if he were staring off miles into the distance. “I guess I didn’t know what I was signing up for, then,” he said quietly.

Francis’ lips tightened. He was frustrated by Arthur’s denial, his detachment. “I think that you are scared,” he said, “I think that you are scared because you do want to go, and so you are running away, like you always do.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, another spark of anger flaring up in his eyes, but still muted, letting Francis know that he was holding back in every way possible. “I’m always running? Last I checked, I wasn’t the only one of us who’s a permanent ex-pat.”

“That is different,” Francis said, still attempting to catch Arthur’s resistant eye contact, “Matthew and I go to France to see my mother whenever I can. When is the last time you spoke to anyone in your family, Arthur? Do they even know where you are?”

Arthur’s gaze was steady, but dangerous- a warning. Don’t stick your hands in the fire, idiot. “You don’t know anything about my family.”

“Because you never tell me anything!” the words tumbled out of Francis in a sudden, angry rush, almost rendered impossible to understand under the weight of his accent, “That is exactly the problem, and Alfred is the same. In fact, I am certain he learned that from you.” He clenched his fists in frustration when Arthur continued to stare numbly out onto the street. “Dieu, will you not even look at me?” 

But he regretted the words when Arthur did finally meet his eyes, and he saw that they were so cold and hard that there might as well have been two green, glass marbles taking up space in Arthur’s skull.  
“The answer is no,” he said simply, turning back to go into the restaurant with a lack of drama that for some reason had Francis’ blood boiling, even as he could feel the sharp fragments of a broken heart begin to pierce him from the inside.

Arthur kept up his nonchalance as they walked back to the booth where Matthew and Alfred were sitting, both finished with their food and looking antsy- Alfred simply from his usual inability to sit still for long periods of time, and Matthew with badly hidden anxiousness.

“What took you so long?” Alfred whined, both Francis and Arthur ignoring him. Matthew caught his father’s eye, a questioning concern written on his features, but Francis simply shook his head minutely.

“Let’s get the check,” Arthur said as he slid back into the booth, causing Alfred to make a displeased face.

“But I wanted to get dessert,” he complained, reaching out to grab the laminated dessert menu in the center of the table. “They have, like, these crazy big sundaes and shit.”

“Alfred….” Matthew said, cautiously, but Arthur was already handling it.

“And will you be paying for your dessert, Alfred?” he snapped, causing the other to flinch back in surprise.

“Okay…I get it….Jeez, what crawled up your ass?” his sentence trailed off, the last part muttered a touch bitterly under his breath. 

“Do not be rude, Alfred,” Francis said distractedly as he fumbled with his wallet, having waved over a waitress to give them the bill. Alfred’s face morphed into an ugly sneer at having Francis chastise him,  
but he kept his mouth shut, contenting himself with crossing his arms and looking pointedly away from the other three.

“Okay,” Francis said, standing, movements stiff and tired, “Alfred, when we get back there is something we all want to talk to you about.”

Alfred looked up suspiciously, and Matthew gave him a soft, reassuring smile. 

As they left the restaurant, Francis struggled to appear as blissfully unaffected as Arthur, who was continuing on as if nothing had happened. But really, Francis felt tired and drained, surprised by the unplanned outcome of his proposal, and the idea of sitting Alfred down to talk to him about moving to Canada seeming an exhausting prospect. 

The rain began to fall more heavily as the four of them stepped out onto the pavement, and Francis raised an arm to shield himself from the cold water.

~

Arthur leaned back onto the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene taking pace in his living area largely as an outsider, putting a noteworthy effort into appearing nothing more than passively curious as Francis placed a gentle hand on Alfred’s shoulder, telling him to take a seat (on the pillow-covered ground, of course. He really should work up to getting some furniture). As Matthew sat down with him, nervous and fidgeting, while Francis spoke to Alfred, his every word cautious and rational. After all, Arthur thought bitterly, this wasn’t some half-hearted ‘run away with me into the sunset’ type of nonsense.

This was forever.

After, Alfred stared at Francis. He wasn’t surprised, obviously- even Alfred had to have realized that this would happen eventually. Otherwise, what would be the point to all of this insanity? It all had to go somewhere, and every single one of them had been aware of that fact from the very beginning, Alfred included, although he did look like he hadn’t expected it quite so soon, and gave Francis a look like he had just been given a pop quiz that he was not at all ready for.

“So…what does that mean?” Alfred asked, easing in gently, eyes darting between his brother and Francis.

“Well,” Francis said, sharing a moment of meaningful eye contact with Matthew before turning his attention back to Alfred, “I think that, if you felt ready, you could go back to school. It would take some time for you to become a citizen, but we could get a temporary visa and have you enrolled in a high school before as soon as possible.”

Alfred made a face. He was sitting with his legs crossed, hands resting in his lap, fingers moving and fiddling and fidgeting, making him look several years younger. “Go back to high school?” he said, seeming to dislike the feeling of the words in his tongue, “But…I’m old.”

Alfred’s words brought a small, mirthful smile to Francis’s otherwise tired and dreary face. “No, Alfred,” he said, regarding him with warm affection, “You are not ‘old’.”

“Too old to be in high school,” Alfred clarified, face still wrinkled a bit in disgust at the very notion. But Matthew gave him a reassuring smile, speaking to him earnestly, trying to sway him, his excitement just evident underneath his gentleness.

“It’s not a big deal, Al,” he assured his brother, “People do it all the time. I mean, there was this one guy in my grade junior year who I’m pretty sure was like, twenty-two, or something….”

Alfred snorted. “Yeah, but I don’t wanna be ‘that’ guy….”

Matthew laughed a little at that, but it was hard for any of them to make too much of a joke out of the idea. After all, it was Alfred’s reality.

“If you are not comfortable with it, I am sure that we could find other ways of getting you a diploma,” Francis reasoned.

Alfred narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer to Francis conspiratorially. “You mean like…steal one?” he whispered.

At that, they all did laugh. Even Arthur, who was still leaning on the counter, trying not to pay attention to the conversation that was currently twisting his insides into knots, choked out a startled, sad kind of laughter, which he resented it the moment it came out. The way that the other three were jovially going about this, as if it were a beginning and not an ending, made Arthur feel ill.

Not to mention the sudden realization that he was going to miss Alfred’s stupid sense of humor.

Matthew, meanwhile, gave Alfred a teasing punch on the shoulder. “No, dummy,” he said, “Like, online courses or something.”

“Ooh,” Alfred said, grinning, acting as if he was genuinely relieved. Then, there was a moment of silence as he really began to contemplate the idea. “I dunno. I mean, I guess that wouldn’t be too bad.” But then his eyes flickered to where Arthur was standing, who was still looking away from all of them. “But, if I do that, doesn’t it mean I could stay here?”

Matthew’s face fell a bit at Alfred’s words, and he gave his father a quick, slightly panicked look before answering, “Well…I mean, you could, but-”

“You should go with them, Alfred,” Arthur finally spoke up, face still angled so that he was barely looking at the rest of them. His voice was hollow- no emotion filling it, just pushing the words out with cold efficiency. Alfred looked up at his friend, eyes wide and confused, and Arthur sighed. “Matthew is you only real family. You should have been with him all along. And it’s better for you…Francis will take care of you. You’ll have everything you need.”

“But…I already have everything I need,” Alfred said. His gaze was sliding continuously between them- from Francis, to Matthew, to Arthur. A man he barely knew, but could offer him the world, to his only blood relative, to his…best friend. The person who had given him everything. The one who had saved him, and taught him, and showed him that he could have some kind of a life. His Arthur.

“Alfred,” Francis said, steady and gentle, everything a real parent should be. “There are some things that you need right now that you cannot get here.” He paused, uncertainty appearing on his face, swallowing, as if his next words were sticking in his throat. “Matthew and I have been…talking, and we think that you should go speak to someone. He told me about what happened while you were camping….”

Matthew’s eyes widened in shock. “Papa!” he scolded, looking to his brother in horror. But it was too late, and something seemed to crack in the atmosphere, and his words echoed in the sudden, heavy silence. 

Alfred had frozen completely, eyes wide, and was staring at Francis with a strained shock that could tip over the edge at any moment and become anger. “You…” He turned to Matthew, desperately, like a surrounded prey animal, “What did you tell him, Matt?” he asked, becoming more desperate as he repeated himself, “What did you tell him?”

Matthew gaped at his brother, in complete shock at what had just happened. “Alfred…” he said, “I’m so sorry…I didn’t…I just wanted to help, please, Alfred, please just let us help you.” 

Alfred had begun to breathe heavily, still staring at his brother like a frightened animal, filled with the rage and desperation of something very small struggling to break free from the claws of a monster. To the other three, he seemed to disappear- become lost and unreachable, floating in a faraway space somewhere within himself. Seeing this, Francis attempted to comfort him, baffled and horrified, but found that he was shoved roughly out of the way by Arthur, who had bounded over from his fixated point at the counter to kneel in front of Alfred.

“Don’t touch him,” he hissed, and Francis felt like he was being scolded, not just for this, but for everything he had done in the past day, the past two months, for his very existence in Arthur’s life. But, after that one flash of anger, Arthur’s attention was focused entirely on Alfred.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked calmly, not touching Alfred, but trying in vain to make eye contact. When Alfred only turned away, shaking his head, and closing his eyes tightly as if to block out everything, Arthur’s head snapped over to look at Francis.

“Go wait outside,” he said, voice low and unusually authoritative. 

Francis watched the scene in front of him with guilt and shock, like he was standing outside of a house he’d accidentally set on fire and was watching it burn. “Alfred,” he said, attempting to meet Alfred’s eyes from around Arthur, “I am so sorry, that was so insensitive of me, what can I do….”

“You can get out of here,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, glare leaving no room for arguments, “He needs to be away from you right now. I’ll come out and tell you when he’s calmed down.”  
Francis looked like he was about to protest, but Matthew stood, tapping his father’s shoulder lightly with his fingertips, and giving him a stern look. Francis sighed, continuing to watch Alfred with concern as he stood.

“Do you need anything?” Arthur was saying, in hushed tones, while Alfred continued to shake on the floor. Francis’ stomach rolled at seeing what effect he had had on Alfred, guilt hitting him in waved too strong for him to accurately process.

Francis felt a tug on his hand, as Matthew encouraged him towards the door. “Come on,” he said, not meeting his dad’s eyes as they made their way out of the apartment. On the way out of the apartment, Francis got one last look at Alfred on the floor, still with his eyes closed, and his legs drawn close to him, shutting himself away in any way possible. Next to him was Arthur, just watching him with tired worry that looked remarkably parental, and that burned into Francis’s memory, for some reason, just the picture of Arthur looking so exhausted, and so utterly resigned. 

As he left, his last thought was that Arthur somehow looked even more broken than Alfred.

~

When Arthur finally came out of the apartment building to meet Matthew and Francis, night had completely fallen, and the lights from the windows and cars were reflecting in the thin sheen of water on the street, the light being filtered through the mist making everything distorted and hazy. The street seemed strangely quiet, and Matthew’s skin felt wet and clammy. He wasn’t speaking to his father- he just stared out in front of him, waiting. Francis was shooting him small, guilty glances, always seeming as if he might speak, but left Matthew to stew in his own thoughts.

When Arthur came out of the door, Francis and Matthew both went to him immediately, desperate for news about Alfred.

“How is he?” Matthew asked, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

Arthur didn’t quite look at Matthew. “He’ll be fine,” he said, “He went to bed.” There was more that he wanted to say, and both Matthew and Francis could feel it, but for the moment Arthur’s mouth remained decidedly shut.

“Arthur,” Francis said, pleading, “I am terribly sorry, I know that I handled that in the worst way…it is just, it is important that Alfred talks about-”

“He wants you to leave,” Arthur said, cutting Francis off. 

They both stared at him, confusion evident on their faces. “What-” Francis started, but Arthur clarified with cruel forwardness before he could continue.

“He wants both of you to go home,” Arthur explained, “You were about to leave anyway.” After a moment, he said, still looking anywhere but at the two people he was talking to, “Neither of us particularly want you here anymore.”

Matthew became instantly panicked, feeling the world come crashing down around him, held together only by his own, numb sense of disbelief. “But…no, we can’t! I’ve spent my whole life trying to find him, please, Arthur, just give us a chance….”

Francis placed soothing hand on Matthew’s shoulder as his son’s eyes began to glisten with tears. “Arthur,” he said, attempting to be calm, “You cannot do this. To either of them.”

“I’m not the one doing it,” Arthur said, anger flaring, “You did this to him. I don’t even know what the fuck you did, but he hasn’t been this way in a long time. We have decided that we both want you to leave. Go back to your nice life- and stop fucking up ours.”

Francis struggled to keep his voice at a reasonable level for being out in public, even as the sounds of distant laughter and cars driving through water-filled potholes threatened to overpower him, “I am not just going to give up,” he said darkly, “If you want to stay away from me, fine. I will accept how you toyed with me, I can live with how you hurt me, Arthur- but I will not allow you to do this to my son. He needs to be with his brother, and Alfred needs to be somewhere where he will be encouraged to get better, and not hide everything away like this!”

Matthew was crying now, openly, small sobs falling from his lips as he listened to Francis begin to yell. “No,” he choked, shaking his head, “No, Papa, it’s fine, we should go, they want us to go….”

Francis sighed, reaching up to place a hand on his head in frustration. He regarded Arthur with eyes full of protective rage. “I will call you tomorrow,” he said, “And we will discuss this further.” He turned to Matthew, making soothing sounds and assurances, and wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they began to walk away from the apartment building. He spared no last glance to Arthur, who simply stood outside of the door, watching them eventually disappear behind the other people on the street.

~

The next day found Matthew and Francis outside of the train station in Hoboken, with Francis comforting a dazed and tired Matthew with one arm, and talking quietly into his cell phone with the other. From the station, Matthew could see the city skyline across the river, gleaming brilliantly in the sun, and could only think about how far away Alfred already was from him.

“Yes,” Francis was saying into his phone, simultaneously rubbing Matthew’s shoulder with his thumb, “If that is what you think is best. Okay. Goodbye.”

He tucked his phone away in his pocket, giving Matthew a sad look. “I am so sorry, Matthew,” he said, but Matthew just sniffed, shaking his head slightly. 

“At least Arthur has agreed to give it another try once Alfred has cooled down.” Francis continued.

“Do you really think he means it?” Matthew said quietly, staring blankly out over the river.

Francis sighed. “If he does not, then we will take matters into our own hands. I am not going to let you lose him a second time, mon petite,” he promised. Matthew simply nodded. 

“We should go get our tickets,” Francis said. 

As Francis lead him into the station, Matthew snuck one last look at the city, just a mass of silver and cold metal, looking hollow now that the people connecting him to it had rejected him. And, despite his father’s promises, Matthew couldn’t stop the feeling that he had lost his only chance to be with his brother.

As the sat in the train together, neither spoke, and Matthew tried very hard to keep himself from falling apart. He cursed his dad when Francis wrapped and arm around him, the contact drawing out all of the tears he had been holding in, He rested his head on his Papa's shoulder, watching the dull grey buildings and parking lots go by, knowing that soon they would dissolve into lush forests and sparkling streams.

"I was starting to like New York," Matthew gasped through his tears.

Francis could do nothing but hold him closer.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So, I'm still working on this fic, I promise! And I'm definitely going to finish it (we're in sort of the last stretch, here, so I know we can make it). I am so sorry I haven't updated in about...four months, but that shouldn't happen again. I hope most of you are still with me, and I hope this chapter is...okay. Thank you all so much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos, and for being so patient with me! There is no way I would have gotten this far without your amazing support.
> 
> Some extra warnings for this chapter include minor violence, homophobic slurs, and some mildly aggressive policing.

As they made their somewhat clumsy, box-laden way to Ludwig’s apartment, Feliciano kept up a consistent stream of excited, utterly purposeless chatter. Ludwig didn’t like to call it that- it made him feel like an impatient sit-com husband who didn’t want to listen to his wife talk about her day- but that’s truly what it was. Between the constant and rapid shift of topic, and the general meaninglessness of the content to begin with, Ludwig found it nearly impossible to make sense of anything that his boyfriend was saying. It was so bad that Ludwig would hardly even notice when Feliciano would slip into Italian to share a few words with his scowling brother, who looked like he was a minute away from murdering Feliciano with his brother’s own packaged belongings before hurling himself into the East River.

But Feliciano’s prattling didn’t bother Ludwig nearly so much as it bothered Lovino. In fact, he enjoyed the reassurance that Feli was genuinely happy about the move- especially after nearly an entire month of what Ludwig had begun to worry was purposeful procrastination. 

But now it was a gorgeous, late September day, the sky brilliant and clear, and Feliciano was finally moving in. They had hired a taxi to help them with the bulk of the trip; it had had to drop them off about a block over due to lack of spaces to pull over, but Ludwig didn’t particularly mind that either. Feliciano’s material possessions were few and quite manageable between three people, with the exception of the bulky easel and canvases that comprised his painting supplies. All of that, as far as Feliciano knew, was to remain in his old apartment until further notice, meaning that he would have to return there to do his work.

By the time they reached Ludwig’s (and, now, Feliciano’s) building, and were standing side by side in the small elevator, headed for the 10th floor, Feliciano had stopped talking. The resulting vacuum of sound made both Lovino and Ludwig shift uncomfortably as the elevator rattled upwards. Ludwig’s eyes flickered over nervously to catch a glimpse of his boyfriend’s face, seeing that his lips were tightly shut, his brown eyes seeming wider than usual as he stared with apparent rapt attention at the steel elevator doors in front of him. Ludwig knew that Feliciano was used to staying close to the nest, to living with and being constantly surrounded by family, consanguineous or otherwise, and that leaving the people and the neighborhood where he had grown up was actually a great source of anxiety for   
Feli, despite his apparent eagerness. Ludwig desperately wanted Feli to feel happy and comfortable in his life with him. He could only hope that his surprise would do something to help that.

The elevator thudded to a stop, and soon the three of them were stepping over Ludwig’s threshold and placing down their burdens with a series of exhausted thuds. 

Lovino’s eyes swept over the apartment, crinkling his nose judgmentally. “Hey, officer, what d’you have against colors?” he said.

Ludwig looked around, somehow registering for the first time how blaringly empty and white his apartment was, like a blank canvas. How had he never noticed it before? “Well, I uh…I never thought about it,” he admitted, looking around his living area as if he were seeing it for the first time, “Although I am sure Feliciano will be adding some colors to the place.”

Felicano smiled, although it was a little more subdued than his usual radiant, contagious one. It made Ludwig’s stomach turn anxiously, and he wondered again if his boyfriend was really ready to take this step, or if he had just agreed out of a desire to protect Ludwig’s feelings.

But it was then that Feliciano’s eyes finally caught the new addition to Ludwig’s living area, and blinked his brown eyes in confusion. Ludwig notice, and he started to feel even more queasy in his anticipation- he had been planning this for a while now.

“Ludwig?” Feliciano asked lightly, sounding almost childlike in his curiosity, “What’s that?” As the words left his lips, Feliciano inched tentatively towards the object in question- a corner of the living space that was now covered with white curtains, supported by metal rods. For the past few days, Ludwig had had to perform an exhausting amount of trickery and manipulation to keep Feliciano out of the apartment, so that this new addition to their home could be a surprise on moving day. But while the idea had seemed thoughtful and innovative to Ludwig when he had first conceived it, shortly after asking Feliciano to move in with him, in the harsh realities of Feliciano’s curious gaze and Lovino’s raised-eyebrow scrutiny, Ludwig was starting to feel like the whole project was actually quite ridiculous.

“I, ah,” Ludwig struggled to explain, “I thought that maybe it could be a place for you to work…if you ever wanted some privacy. I got a few things, I don’t know if they’re right…”

As Ludwig trailed off anxiously, Feliciano peeled back the corner of one of the curtains, emitting a small gasp as he peered inside. To complete Feli’s workspace, Ludwig had purchased a new easel, a few blank canvases, and some paint brushes of varying sizes. He hadn’t dared to buy any paints, because he knew that Feliciano was very particular about those, and Ludwig hadn’t wanted to stray quite so far out of his own realm of understanding- but, with that single exception, the small, covered space contained everything Feliciano needed to make his artwork.

Before Ludwig could have another worried thought about what an incredibly embarrassing disaster this was, he was nearly knocked off balance by Feliciano’s delicate body crashing into his with surprising force. Sometimes, it felt as if Feli could make up for his lesser strength with pure, aggressive affection. When it happened, it was like being run over by a concentrated beam of sunlight. Ludwig couldn’t say it was something he particularly minded.

“Thank you,” Feliciano said, voice muffled buy the fabric of Ludwig’s shirt. He then pulled his face away from his boyfriend’s chest, in order to meet his eyes with a slightly uncharacteristic seriousness, “”It’s amazing.” He pecked Ludwig on the lips before turning to Lovino, smiling widely and blinking just a little more rapidly than was entirely normal.

“Isn’t it amazing, Lovino?” he asked his brother. Lovino remained in a somewhat indifferent position, leaning his legs back against Ludwig’s white couch and crossing his arms, and starting when Feliciano addressed him as if he hadn’t been paying any attention to proceedings at all until then. When he answered, he continued to wear his usual scowl, but there was also a softness in his eyes, something that made Ludwig feel comforted, even from a simple moment of eye contact with the oldest Vargas brother. Ludwig may have imagined it, but it seemed like a glimmer of approval that was showing in Lovino’s eyes. 

But, of course, all Lovino could manage to express verbally was an overdramatic sigh and an “It’s alright, I guess. As long as I don’t have to be the one to move all of Feliciano’s painting shit over here.”

Feliciano continued to beam at one hundred watts despite his brother’s apparent lack of enthusiasm, and the fact that he had just effectively called Feli’s artwork “shit”. But then he looked back at Ludwig’s creation and his expression dimmed just slightly, like he was a lamp that someone had tossed a handkerchief over. His smile wavered, the creases around his eyes smoothing out and melting away as he adopted a slightly more wistful expression.

“I wish Antonio could see it though!” he said, his tone of voice a layer of chipper over something deeper and more melancholy. Somehow, it was clear that the words were mostly directed at Lovino, although Feli wasn’t looking at either of them.

Lovino looked away, his scowl deepening, settling into his face like someone digging their heels into the ground, and refusing to budge. After a moment of ringing silence, Ludwig became uncomfortable, and had to break it, clearing his throat quite conspicuously. 

“Yes, ah, how is he?” he asked, not just to fill in the silence, but with genuine concern.

Lovino shrugged, shifting his gaze down to his feet. “Eh, he’ll be alright. He’s got a fever, kinda tired…but it should pass soon. It usually does.”

Ludwig nodded. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said, although simultaneously wondering what he could possibly do to help in this situation. He felt useless, and he hated having to see that little gleam of sadness behind Feliciano’s bright eyes, and no means of making it disappear. 

Lovino nodded, a more benign response than Ludwig was expecting, as both of them knew perfectly well that it was a meaningless gesture of courtesy. 

“I should probably get home, though,” Lovino said, heaving his body away from the couch with a groan, “Just…to make sure he’s alright.”

Ludwig nodded understandingly as Lovino approached his brother, a little lopsided smile on his face. “Well, fratello, I can’t say I’m sad to be rid of you, but….Ah! Fucking…get off of me….”

But Lovino’s struggle was half-hearted at best, and soon he was returning Feliciano’s hug in full force, letting his younger brother hold him close. 

“And you better not come back, got it?” he said into the hug, making Feliciano giggle.

After a few moments Lovino managed to extricate himself from his brother’s grip. Feliciano wiped at his eyes, smiling sweetly. “I’m going to miss you,” he told Lovino, who snorted dismissively.

“We’re right around the corner, idiota. Mio Dio.”

Feliciano laughed again through his tears, and Ludwig walked over to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders. He knew that this was a big change for Feliciano, and he was determined to do whatever he could to make him comfortable in his new home.

When Lovino left, it was with a slight wave to Feliciano, and a small, stern look to Ludwig that he couldn’t quite make sense of. When he was gone, Ludwig suggested that they look into getting some lunch, and that maybe they could rent a movie that night. It didn’t take long for the redness to fade from the edges of Feli’s eyes, and soon he was behaving like himself once again.

That night, as Ludwig felt Feliciano sleep next to him and listened to his slow, steady breathing, he felt somehow new, as if his life was starting over again. It was the beginning of his new life with   
Feliciano.

~

Francis always insisted on driving Matthew to university. Despite the fact that it took a few hours to get to the (of course, woodsy, middle-of-nowhere) college that Matthew had chosen for himself, despite the fact that Matthew had a car of his own and was an adult, goddammit, and despite Francis being decidedly less reliable behind the wheel than his son, Matthew’s reasonable arguments always fell through to Francis’ hurt expression and insistence that he needed to see that Matthew was settled in properly.

Of course, if Matthew really argued, his papa would certainly let it go. But Matthew had never pushed too hard before, and this semester, he didn’t even make any attempts at a protest. For the past few months, Matthew had started to see his father’s overprotectiveness in a new light, recognizing that his affection was something of a gift, and that he was lucky to have someone who was so dedicated to looking after him, even as he was starting to learn how to look after himself. In retrospect, Matthew supposed that Francis’ overly heavy doses of love were probably the reason that he had gotten this far, despite everything he had been through in his earlier years.

And he knew that not every child was afforded such a luxury.

Which was why, when Francis asked if he could help Matthew carry his things into his dorm, and then if he could help him unpack, and then if he could make his bed, Matthew didn’t so much as roll his eyes, despite the presence of his new roommate, who was quietly doing all of those things by himself. It was why he didn’t shoot pointed glares at Francis as he puttered around the now furnished and well-made dorm, straightening posters and smoothing out the bedding, and heaving the occasional melancholy sigh. And it was why he didn’t struggle when his father finally threw his arms around him, holding him tightly enough that Matthew began to fear that he was actually never going to break free. 

Matthew sighed as Francis patted his hair lovingly, noting that he had never had quite so much trouble letting Matthew go before. He thought that he could guess some of the reasons, but also knew that his Papa was a complicated creature, and that he would probably never come to fully understand what was going on in his head, no matter how close they were. As it was, Matthew tolerated Francis’ emotions, and returned the hug earnestly, hoping that maybe if he put enough heart into it then it would spare him from having to express all that he was feeling in words.

“I love you,” Francis said simply, near Matthew’s ear but not into it, seeming to stare at a spot on the white walls over Matthew’s shoulder.

“You too,” Matthew said, adding a hint of a question to his words, just the lightest impression of suspicion, in order to try and coax Francis into talking to him.

Francis pulled away, moving instead to place a hand on either side of Matthew’s head, causing his long hair to bunch up slightly under his hands. As he met his son’s eyes, Matthew could see a deep sadness in his features. “I am so sorry for everything that happened, Matthew. I am so sorry that I could not make things work….”

But Matthew shook his head, taking a step back away from Francis, freeing himself from any physical contact. “I told you not to be sorry,” he said, almost sternly, leaving no room for compromise, “It’s all going to work out, eh? I told you. But that’s for me to take care of now…you’ve done everything you could.”

Francis’ eyes flickered momentarily downwards, and Matthew hated the way he looked almost chastised, as if their roles had been reversed, with Matthew now playing the role of the supportive yet unyielding parent. It made Francis seem small, not at all like the flash of brightness and charisma he usually was. It made Matthew deeply sad to really see how all of these years and heartache had weighed on his Papa, now that he no longer seemed to have the energy to conceal his worry lines, the heaviness in his eyes, the subtle slump of his shoulders. Eyes knitting together in disapproval,   
Matthew walked back over to Francis, placing a consoling hand on his dad’s shoulder.

“You’ve done so much, Papa,” Matthew insisted, straining his words with earnest, trying to make Francis understand, “More than I ever could have asked for. But now it’s…it’s my responsibility. He’s my brother.”

Francis let out a small breath, seeming conflicted; he wanted to believe what Matthew was saying, but couldn’t find it within himself to absolve himself of blame. He was keeping himself prisoner with only a few fine threads, and just couldn’t bring himself to cut the last of them, no matter how desperate the look in his son’s blue eyes. 

“But Matthew, if I hadn’t….” he started to explain, only to be cut off Matthew’s surprisingly loud groan of frustration.

“Stop! God, please, just stop,” he said, ignoring the surprise on his father’s face, “You know that I messed it up just as much as you did, if not more. There’s no point in beating yourself up over it; it only makes me worry about you.” Matthew smiled slightly, “Then I’ll be too worried to focus on school, fail all my classes, drop out, and start leading a life of crime.”

Francis chuckled. Matthew was relieved to see something of a spark returning to his father’s eyes. “Well, we wouldn’t want any of that, would we?” Francis said.

Before either of them could say any more, Matthew’s roommate returned to the dorm, what were presumably the rest of his things in tow, and the more meaningful aspects of their conversation were forced to a close. 

“Ah, well, I suppose I should leave you alone now,” Francis said, moving to give Matthew another, more casual hug, “Please take care of yourself. Sleeping and eating are more important than studying. And call me sometimes, if you get the chance.”

“I will,” Matthew assured him, giving Francis a little extra squeeze, “And you don’t stay home and drink wine and listen to sad Edith Piaf songs. Deal?”

Francis broke away from the hug, giving his son a mildly offended look. “Since when do I do that?”

Matthew arched an eyebrow.

Francis sighed. “Fine. Just call me sometimes, mon petite tortue.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Deal. Now get out of here.”

“Alright, alright,” Francis said, moving towards the door. “Avoir! It was nice to meet you!” he said to Matthew’s roommate, “Goodbye Matthew. Have a wonderful semester.”

“See you soon,” Matthew called as Francis finally stepped outside the dorm, leaving Matthew alone with his new roommate. 

“Uh, hey,” he said, a bit awkwardly, but without the hint of a stutter, “I’m Matthew. Nice to meet you.”

~  
Alfred stared at the lightly sizzling meat patties on the grill that was currently under his personal supervision. The smell of them was everywhere; it hung in the air like thick fog, somehow heightened by the heavy heat that was lingering in the kitchen. He knew that the smell was also sticking to him, permeating the fabric of his clothes and settling in the strands of his hair. He knew this because Arthur never hesitated to tell him, and to promptly direct him towards their constantly malfunctioning shower the minute he stepped through the door. Alfred also knew that he could certainly make some comments about what Arthur smelled like when he returned from his own job- sweat and oil and other people’s alcohol- but he never did. He knew in his heart that that would be a completely different kind of insult.

But the thing that was bothering Alfred the most in that moment wasn’t really the knowledge that the smell of grease was essentially permeating his being with every passing second, so much that it was so persistently surrounding him. It was strange- he’d been working at this same McDonald’s for months now, the smell becoming so commonplace in his life that he had almost entirely stopped noticing it. But today, it was all he could focus on. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He was shaken out of his reverie by a familiar voice. “Alfred!” it snapped, “What are you doing? You aren’t telekinetic. You can’t make the burgers flip just by staring at them.”

Alfred blinked, then cracked a crooked smile at his coworker. “What d’you know about what super powers I may or may not have?” he said slyly. Then, when he noticed the look he was receiving, “Sorry, Rosa. I’m just…tired.”

Rosa’s face softened with a bit of sympathy. “Well, hang in there. Your shift’s almost over.”

Alfred tried to arrange his facial features into an appropriate mixture of happiness and relief at this information, but thankfully Rosa turned back to the register before she could see it. Normally, those emotions weren’t ones he would have to fake- Alfred used to watch the clock like a bird of prey waiting to go in for the kill when he was at work, getting increasingly more jittery as the time went by, waiting eagerly for when he would be able to go read comics or play videogames or hang out with his friends. But lately, he’d found that he’d begun to dread those moments of freedom far more than his moments at work- it was as if he’d forgotten how to fill them up on his own, and so every day he found himself feeling lost, unsure of what to do with his ample free time. Over the past few weeks, he’d even started to consider getting a second job, if only to fill this unexpected and frightening void.

So when Alfred was finally relieved of his position for the day, it was with a quiet sigh instead of a victorious fist-pump, and he unconsciously kept his head angled towards the ground as he stepped out into the sunny September afternoon. It was for this reason that he didn’t see the person who was standing almost directly outside of the back entrance. 

“Ow! Oh, shit, I’m sorry I…Kat?” he stuttered, as he came to suddenly lock eyes with the person he had crashed into. Katyusha smiled warmly at him as she caught her balance from their collision.

“Hello, Alfred. It is so nice to see you again,” she said, a bit distractedly. Alfred noticed that she was bending down to pick something- a small box- off of the pavement.

“Oh, here, let me,” Alfred said, swiftly moving to snatch up the box. He went to hand it back to Katyusha, but she shook her head, smiling softly. 

“Keep it, they are for you,” she explained. Curiously, Alfred lifted up the cardboard lid, revealing six neat rows of white, fluffy-looking cookies. Alfred’s stomach fluttered slightly, some memories surfacing   
that he hadn’t overturned in what could very possibly have been years. He searched those memories for the name of the treats- he was sure it started with a ‘z’, followed by some rolling syllables his American tongue had never quite mastered, but he couldn’t get much farther than that. 

“Zefir,” Katyusha said, like she knew exactly what was going through Alfred’s mind, “I remembered you always liked those.”

Alfred stared at the box in his hand for a moment longer, before looking back up to Katyusha in confusion. “What are you doing here?” he asked, the question coming out a little more harshly than intended. 

Katyusha’s warm smile dimmed slightly. “I am sorry Alfred, I heard that this is where you work….” Alfred couldn’t even worry about how the woman had acquired that information; all members of the Braginski family had always had a knack for knowing everything about him. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to question her, Katyusha continued, “I just thought that you should know, Alfred…Natalia, she’s back in New York. I am…not sure what happened, but, she has left Ivan. She called me a few days ago and she is staying with us now.”

Alfred gaped at her, mouth going dry, feeling like the ground was twisting below him and the air warping around him. He shook his head, trying to clear away the disorientation. 

“I…what?” was all he could manage, forming proper sentences too much of a chore on top of all of the thoughts suddenly flying through his mind. He struggled to imagine a situation that would finally cause Natalia to leave her brother- in Alfred’s experience, it would take a nuclear explosion to get her away from Ivan. 

“I know,” Katysha said, seeing the disbelief on Alfred’s face, “I was very surprised as well. But she won’t tell me why, and I do not want to pressure her. It is such a relief to have her here…I would not want to scare her away. You know how she can be.”

“Yeah…” Alfred said, voice coming out hoarse, “So…how, I mean, how is she?”

Katyusha smiled knowingly. “She is alright. Keeping to herself, mostly.”

“Is she still…” Alfred hadn’t meant for that question to pop out of his mouth, and he stopped it before it could go any further. But somehow, Katyusha knew what he was asking. Her eyes became sad.

“I…think so. I can’t be sure, but…she goes out every night. She doesn’t tell me where she is going.”

Alfred shook his head. “God,” he breathed, unable to think of any other response.

“I was actually hoping you could talk to her,” Katyusha said suddenly, in a rush of breath. When all Alfred did was stare at her, she explained, “It is just that, you seem to be doing so well, and you have been clean for so many years now. I just thought, maybe, if she saw you-”

“I can’t,” Alfred said, shaking his head, guilt filling him as Katyusha’s gentle face fell, “I’m sorry, Kat, I really am, but I just-” Suddenly, a loud buzzing coming from Alfred’s pocket threatened to run over his words. He tried to ignore it. “I just can’t see her. Not right now. I doubt it would help anyway…shit, sorry, hold on.”

Alfred gave in to the persistent buzzing of his phone, reaching to take it out of his pocket. He had one of his own, now; for some reason, Arthur had suddenly decided that an easy means of communication was now a priority. “What?” he snapped into it, assuming that it was Arthur. But the voice he heard wasn’t Arthur’s, but Feliciano’s, sounding panicked and teary. And what he was saying made Alfred turn suddenly cold with fear.

“Oh god,” he breathed into the receiver, having a brief flicker of panicked eye-contact with Katyusha before looking away, “Fuck. Yeah…yeah, okay, I’ll get him. Yeah. See you there.” Alfred hung up the phone, shoving it back into his packet with vigor.

“Sorry,” he said to Kat, “I gotta go. Thanks for the cookies.”

Before Katyusha could say anything else, Alfred set off quickly, heading back to his and Arthur’s apartment.

~  
Alfred burst through their apartment door briskly, allowing the door to slam shut behind him as he entered. “Arthur?” he called as he strode across the main area to their bedroom, flinging that door open with as much force as before.

When Alfred came into the bedroom, Arthur stirred slightly in his sleep, but didn’t fully wake. For a moment Alfred considered flipping the futon, a tactic that he had used many times before, but decided against it when he felt his stomach churn in guilt at how peacefully his roommate was sleeping, knowing what he was about to wake up to. So Alfred knelt by the side of the bed, like Arthur had done so many times for him, and gently shook his shoulder.

“Arthur,” he said, quiet but stern, as his friend’s eyes began to blink open, “Come on, you gotta get up.”

“Hnn,” Arthur groaned, throwing an arm across his eyes in order to block out the light of day, “What the bloody..fuckin…why….”

“Come on, man, get up,” Alfred repeated, continuing to shake Arthur’s shoulder, “Antonio’s in the hospital. We gotta go.”

It seemed to take Arthur a moment to catch up with Alfred’s words, but when he did, he sat up in bed, blinking at Alfred in confusion. “What?” he asked, eyes suddenly wide, and chest rising and falling a little bit faster than was normal.

Alfred swallowed, trying to figure out how to speak to Arthur in a calming and sensitive way. He felt strange, oddly numb even though his heart was flittering rapidly in his chest, and for whatever reason he felt that if Arthur began to panic, it would throw off his delicate zone of focus. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure what happened, Feli called me but I couldn’t get much out of him.” Alfred realized that his legs were beginning to tingle unpleasantly from his awkward squatting position, and he forced himself to his feet with a groan. “I’m sure everything’s gonna be fine. But I said we’d met them at the hospital.”

Arthur nodded dazedly from his bed, running a hand through his hair to flatten some of his wild bedhead. Alfred went into one of their drawers, fishing out a pair of Arthur’s pants and tossing them into his friend’s face. Arthur didn’t even complain, just climbed out of bed and began slipping them over his boxers, still looking as if Alfred had woken him with a baseball bat to the head instead of a gentle tap on the shoulder. 

When Arthur was some sort of dressed, Alfred stepped out of the bedroom, only to look behind himself in confusion when he realized that Arthur wasn’t following him.

“Arthur?” Alfred called back to the bedroom. Through the doorframe, he could see Arthur standing, frozen, in the middle of the tiny room. Something about his behavior made Alfred feel sick and nervous, feelings that he pushed aside as he slowly stepped back into the bedroom.

“C’mon, man,” he said softly, “It’ll be alright.”

Arthur looked up to meet Alfred’s eyes, fear and a bleary tiredness covering them like a fog. When Alfred reached him, he felt the slightest, unconscious urge to offer some form of comforting physical contact, but was unsure if what that might be, or if Arthur would even want that, so his arms remained awkwardly at his sides, tense with the expectation of a phantom movement that never came into reality.

But Arthur must have managed to push through whatever emotions he was experiencing without help, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, some of the glassy film clearing from his eyes as he did so.

“Right,” he said, voice coming out hoarse on the first note, but clearing as his words forced past some kind of vocal obstruction. “How about I bring some cash, so we can take a cab.”

Alfred nodded, jittery and wanting to go despite the sense of numbness that was still overtaking him. By the time Arthur had reached into the top drawer to retrieve the wad of extra bills that they had stashed away strictly for emergencies, Alfred already had his hand on the doorknob, the metal becoming slick from his sweating palms. 

When Arthur joined him, and they both broke into near-sprints down the stairs, it was like a moment of suspended time had been shattered, dropping them both back into the fast and overwhelming   
world of reality.

~  
When Alfred and Arthur entered the emergency room, they only had to spend a brief moment of looking around frantically before they caught sight of Lovino and Feliciano, sitting closely together in the waiting area. They rushed over to the brothers, both desperate for news, but before either of them could say anything Feliciano threw himself out of his chair, and into Arthur’s unprepared arms.

“Thank you for coming,” Feli said tearfully into Arthur’s shoulder.

“Of course,” Arthur said, hands resting at his sides in obvious discomfort at Feliciano’s hug. When he managed to extricate himself from Feli’s arms, Arthur could see his red-rimmed eyes and the unnatural-looking creases along his brow. “What happened?” Arthur asked, but Feliciano merely gave a weak shrug of his shoulders, looking too bewildered to give a cohesive answer.

“He just passed out,” Lovino offered from his chair. In slight contrast to his brother Lovino looked less in shock, and more dreadfully tired. His eyes were sunken in with dark circles, and his hair rested in a greasy, unkempt mess on top of his head. “He was having a pretty bad week, but this morning I just…couldn’t wake him up. Had to call an ambulance.”

“Shit,” Arthur cursed weakly. Alfred just stood next to him, looking worried.

“I think he was already starting to wake up when they came,” Lovino continued, looking off towards the double-doors and jiggling his leg restlessly, “Probably just hadn’t eaten enough or something…probably going to be pissed at me for getting an ambulance….” Lovino became quieter as he went on, soon sounding like he was talking more to himself than anyone else. 

Before long, a woman in scrubs stepped out from behind the doors, holding a clipboard and calling out the name “Carriedo” as if it was a question.

Lovino jumped to his feet, and he and Feliciano all but ambushed the woman, who spoke to them with a level, unreadable expression on her face. Alfred fidgeted nervously with the sleeves of his hoody, and Arthur watched the conversation with a quiet intensity.

After the brief conversation had come to a close, Lovino and Feliciano went back over to Alfred and Arthur, both looking significantly less distressed than before. The woman with the clipboard remained, standing by the doors and watching them as if waiting for something.

“He’s awake,” Lovino said, “They said he’s stable, just…”

“Just dehydrated,” Feliciano filled in, voice still sounding small despite the disappearance of the lines of worry on his face, “He had a really bad fever, so….”

“Must’ve just caught something,” Lovino said, on this very rare occasion sounding brighter and more upbeat than his brother, “You know how things just hit him hard.”

“Right,” Arthur said in a breath of relief, “Well, that’s good then.”

The Vargas brothers were both looking at him a little guiltily as Lovino continued, hands in the pockets of his jeans, “Well, clipboard lady over there says he can only have two visitors at a time, so….”

“Oh!” Arthur said, understanding, but still distracted by the shock of everything that had just happened. Now that he knew his friend was alright, he felt himself slowly coming back down to Earth- his heart rate was fighting its way back to a normal pace, but he was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. “Well, go on then, don’t let us keep you.”

Lovino nodded, “Come on, Feli,” he prodded, and they both dashed off to Antonio’s room.

As the double doors swung shut behind them, Arthur sank down onto one of the waiting area’s chairs, closing his eyes and taking slow, deep breaths, while Alfred stood over him with his hands in his pockets, too restless to sit.

“So, Toni’s gonna be okay, right?” Alfred asked, tone implying that he for whatever reason trusted Arthur’s input more than any doctor’s.

Arthur sighed, opening his eyes to look up at Alfred with a serious expression. “Well…yes. For now, at least.”

~  
Feliciano threw his arms around Antonio the moment they entered the hospital room, almost taking out his brother in his haste, who was also trying to get to the man in the bed.

“Agh! Feli, you fucking-” 

But Lovino’s irritated cursing was lost on Feliciano as he clung to Antonio, who had sat up in bed to accommodate Feli’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Feliciano gasped as Antonio patted his back soothingly, “I should have been there! I knew you were sick, and, and- I should move back in, I should be there to help take care of you.” 

Antonio laughed, pulling himself away from Feliciano to look at his tearful face. He reached up to wipe away one of the small tears that was gliding down Feli’s cheek with the hand not held back by tubes attached to a plastic bag full of clear liquid.

“Hey, hey,” Antonio, hand still resting on Feliciano’s cheek, “Don’t feel guilty, Feli. It isn’t your fault. You’re happy with Ludwig, no?”

Feliciano sniffed, then nodded. “Y-yes, but-”

“Then that is where you should be.” Antonio sighed, allowing himself to sink back into his pillows. His eyes rested on Lovino. “Your brother takes good enough care of me on his own, right Lovino?”

“Damn right I do,” Lovino said. But his voice was still hoarse, and his shoulders continued to slump forward with exhaustion. “You don’t always have to make everything about you, you know,” he snapped at his brother.

“Let him be, Lovino,” Antonio said with a stern look to the older brother, “Feliciano was just worried.”

“So was I.” Lovino’s voice was flat, and for a moment it seemed as if he might be angry with Antonio. But he soon sighed, the hardness melting from his eyes, and took a few steps closer to his friend.   
“What did the doctors say?” he asked.

Antonio shrugged, smiling in a way that was somehow both easy and transparently forced, like a stream moving in the wrong direction. “Ah, well, of course they want me to stay here for tonight…I told them it was not necessary. I’m alright now. I just needed a little pick-me-up.”

Lovino’s eyes flickered towards the bag of fluid currently dripping into Antonio’s veins. “Yeah, a pick-me-up,” he said dryly, crossing his arms, but deciding not to push the subject. If they past few times they had dealt with a similar situation were any indication, he had many more important arguments with Antonio ahead of him; arguments that Antonio was astoundingly good at winning. “So…did they say anything else?” he prodded.

Antonio shrugged, and Lovino felt a hot flash of irritation at the other’s apparent nonchalance. He let out the anger with a breath and a roll of his eyes, frightened that he would snap at his best friend while he was lying in a hospital bed. He knew his temper had made him do worse.

Antonio must have recognized the signs of Lovino’s mounting frustration, because he looked down at the hands in his lap, saying, “They said what they always say, Lovi. That I need to see a specialist, that I need a hundred different expensive medications, and then more medications for the side effects of those medications….”

Lovino swallowed, his eyes moving up from Antonio’s bed to meet those of his brother, who had taken a seat on the opposite side of the bed, one hand resting comfortingly on Antonio’s shoulder. A moment of unspoken communication passed between the two brothers, something in in Feliciano’s wide brown eyes letting Lovino know that their thoughts were congruent. 

Lovino looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Toni….”

Antonio shook his head. “It is alright, Lovino. I have been fine so far, yes? I can take care of this.”

Lovino and Feliciano were quiet for a moment, and Lovino again felt that rare sense of concordance with his younger brother, as if their thoughts and feelings were reaching each other through the sterile hospital air, rendering words unnecessary. It was Feliciano who spoke up first, his voice quiet, and thick with potential tears.

“It doesn’t…I don’t think it really works like that, Antonio.” He said, almost in a whisper.

“Feli’s right,” Lovino said, “You…” his eyes flickered around him, and he lowered his voice slightly, wanting to respect Antonio’s privacy, “You have AIDS, Toni. It’s not like it’s just going to go away. People…people die from this, when they don’t get meds.” As Lovino spoke, he felt himself getting more worked up, and had to make an effort to not become as teary as Feliciano. “This is serious, we can’t just keep pretending that everything’s all fucking fine, okay? I don’t care if we have to sell the apartment, I don’t care if we have to live on the fucking streets, Toni! I’m not just going to sit around and watch you…and watch you….” Despite his best efforts, tears began to overflow from Lovino’s eyes, rolling silently down his face, leaving sticky tracks in their wake.

“He’s right,” Feliciano said, peaking up when it became apparent that Lovino was unable to continue, bowing his head and sobbing quietly into his chest, “You could come and live with us, for a little bit.   
I’m sure Ludwig would….”

“Stop it!” Antonio shouted suddenly, surprising the other two with his uncharacteristic outburst. Through the door, a nurse poked her head in critically, and Toni took a breath, attempting to force his face into something resembling his natural smile. Lovino thought it was a shameful effort.

“You are both being ridiculous,” Antonio said, that fake mockery of a smile still on his face, obviously trying to sound like the reasonable one in the conversation, “Do you hear yourselves? We are not going to sell the apartment. Did I not say that I could handle this? I would appreciate it if you would both stop acting like you know what is happening in my body better than I do.”

Neither Lovino nor Feliciano said anything.

“Now,” Antonio continued, now seeming to genuinely fall back into his relaxed nature, “I am going to call over a nurse and see if they will release me. It is a beautiful day…I would like to see more of it than what I can see through these windows.”

Lovino lifted his head from his chest, a sudden rage forcing his flow of tears to a stop. “Fine,” he spat, on his feet before he even realized he was standing, “You do whatever the fuck you want, okay? See if I fucking care.”

He all but ran out of the room, barely registering Feliciano’s pleas for him to stay, or Antonio calmly telling him to let Lovino go.

~

It was a beautiful day. As Antonio sat out on the sidewalk, lightly strumming intricate melodies on his guitar, he tried to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. The feel of cold concrete under his crossed legs, the sounds of the distant conversations of strangers, the shadows cast by the slowly setting September sun on worn brick walls. The orange gleam of it on distant, metallic skyscrapers. 

Suddenly, Antonio found that his fingers could no longer continue their strumming, and he closed his eyes, the simple sensations of being alive nearly overwhelming him. He took a breath, wanting to fill himself with everything around him, to take it all into his lungs, making him feel more a part of the world. 

He opened his eyes when he heard the dull sound of the door to their apartment building open and close.

Antonio had always loved being alive. But there were some things he loved more.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Lovino asked. Antonio smiled at the younger man’s tone of voice; it was no longer angry, but slightly tired, with a barely noticeable hint of affection as its backdrop. He sounded like a parent who was weary of his child’s antics, but nonetheless loving for it. The thought made Antonio chuckle quietly to himself.

Lovino sighed, taking a seat on the sidewalk next to Antonio. “I’m sorry I yelled before,” he said grudgingly, playing with one of his shoelaces.

Antonio put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to be sorry, Lovino. I understand.”

Lovino nodded, still focusing intently on his feet. Antonio watched his face, noticing immediately when a tear began to make its way down Lovino’s precious face.

“Oh, Lovi,” Antonio said, reaching over to wrap an arm around Lovino’s slumped shoulders. Lovino leaned into him, trying in vain to limit the flow of his tears.

After a few moments of embracing in comfortable silence, the two were shaken from their moment by the sound of gently clinking metal directly in front of them. They looked up to see three men, two of them shaking with poorly stifled laughter, the other dangling the old baseball cap that Antonio set out to acquire tips in one hand.

Antonio’s hair stood on end, gut twisting with apprehension at the behavior of the men. They didn’t seem anything near sober, and looks in their eyes conveyed a malicious mirth that promised nothing good would result from this interaction. 

“Wow, looks like someone hit the jackpot today,” the man holding the cap said, swinging it around just enough to accentuate the sound of the few coins inside knocking against each other, “You boys might wanna hurry to the bank soon; it’s dangerous to be carrying around this much dough at a time.” The man’s buddies howled with laughter.

Of course, Lovino was on his feet before Antonio could do anything to stop him. 

“Do you have a problem with us?” Lovino asked, lip curling, voice low and dangerous. He was standing in front of Antonio, obviously intending to create a barrier between him and the men.

The men laughed at Lovino’s serious demeanor. “Hey, relax,” the man holding the baseball caps slurred, “We’re just messing with you.” He dropped the cap gentle back to the ground at Lovino’s feet, lifting his arms in a mocking gesture of surrender.

Lovino looked as if he was about to retaliate, but Antonio placed a hand on his leg, encouraging him to sit back down. After a moment of hesitation, and a hateful look in the man’s direction, Lovino complied. He sunk back to the pavement slowly, shoulders tense, and eyes unwaveringly focused on the three men, like a cat on the defensive.

“Of course,” Antonio said amiably, with a friendly smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “But I am sure you would like to get back to whatever you were doing, no?” 

There was a push to Antonio’s words- the softest hint of a threat, just below the surface. It didn’t go unnoticed by the man, and his eyes narrowed at the sound of them, pausing as if unable to decide if he should be angered by them or not. In the end, it seemed that he settled for a compromise, because he turned to his buddies with a sneer on his face.

“Let’s go,” he spat, obviously trying to make it sound as much like his own idea as possible.

As the men began to make their stumbling way down the sidewalk, and away from himself and Lovino, Antonio, let out a small sigh of relief. The last thing he needed today was any kind of trouble.  
Lovino, however, remained tense, his eyes narrowed as he continued to hold his focus on the men even as they walked away. It was for this reason that it didn’t go unnoticed to Lovino when the man turned to his friends and spoke to them harshly, not quietly enough that he couldn’t have meant for them to hear him.

“Fucking faggots.”

Lovino was on his feet again before Antonio could even register the man’s words, or the dark chuckles of his friends, or the sudden flash of wrath in Lovino’s eyes. He sat, frozen in horror as the younger man, his friend, the boy who he felt he had all but raised, stood from his place in the sidewalk and strode with a cold, controlled fury into their apartment building, slamming the door with a crash behind him. He was gone before Antonio could even find the presence of mind to call after him.

Antonio breathed deeply as he sat, waiting, his back against the aged red brick of their home. He felt the moment suspend itself in time; even as the men continued to walk away from them, the sun continued its creeping descent from the sky, and Antonio attempted to calm his rapidly beating heart, holding onto the hope that maybe Lovino, his hot-tempered Lovino, had decided to keep himself   
inside, to prevent himself from doing anything dangerously, damagingly foolish.

This thin, wavering hope was broken as Antonio heard the door open and crash close once again. He closed his eyes for a moment at the sound, allowing his head to fall back against the bricks, before opening them, and forcing himself to stand on still unsteady legs.

Lovino was standing in front of him, eyes watching intently as the three men rounded a corner. In his right hand he was gripping the old metal pipe that had been laying around their apartment for ages.

“Lovino!” Antonio said sternly, “Put that down. Stop this, they aren’t worth it, please go inside-”

“Stay here,” Lovino said evenly, eyes trained on the corner where the men had disappeared from their sight. 

“Lovino, please,” Antonio begged, weak voice straining in desperation. He reached out to grab onto Lovino’s hand as he moved, but Lovino broke the contact easily, and broke into a run down the sidewalk.

Antonio tried to go after him, but he was still weak, legs feeling limp and unstable underneath him from dehydration and a lack of proper food, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead from exertion and the lingering effects of fever. It took only seconds of running before he collapsed onto the dirty pavement, overcome by a wave of sudden dizziness.

Antonio squinted down the road, his stomach twisting with the realization that Lovino was already out of his sight. The boy had always been a fast runner.

Through the disorienting haze of sickness and fear, Antonio didn’t hear the footsteps coming from behind him at a run, and nearly flinched when he felt and unexpected hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the kind but worried eyes of Feliciano. The boy had decided to stay at his old home overnight to help look after Antonio.

“Are you okay?” he asked, offering Antonio a hand to help him to his feet. Once upright, Antonio looked into Feli’s eyes, noting that they were beginning to shimmer with frightened tears.

“Lovino,” Antonio gasped, still catching his breath from his attempted sprint down the road, “There were some men…he went after them….”

Feliciano’s eyes widened at Antonio’s words. “Oh, Lovi…” Feliciano said sadly, expression uncharacteristically hard, “I saw him come in and grab the pipe, but he wouldn’t talk to me…I was worried, I told   
him to get rid of it a long time ago, with his temper….”

For a moment, the two of them continued to stare wordlessly down the path that Lovino had taken, unsettled by the afternoon quiet, by the gentle lull of everyday life that suggested that this moment was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I have to go after him,” Feliciano said suddenly. He was still gazing down the street, away from Antonio. He stood stiffly, back straightened, a combination of frightened and determined that made Antonio’s heart ache for the younger brother.

“No, Feli,” Antonio said tiredly. He wrapped an arm around Feliciano, both as a gesture of comfort and to provide himself with the support to stay upright. “All that will do is get you hurt, or in trouble. All we can do is trust Lovino, now.”

Feliciano swallowed, looking like there was a protest in his throat, but he kept it down. After another moment of silence had passed between them, he tightened his hold on Antonio’s shoulders, moving to   
turn them both back in the direction of the apartment building. 

“Come on,” he said quietly, “We should go back. You really shouldn’t have been out on your own, Toni.”

Antonio looked sadly at Feliciano’s usually bright and cheery face. The events of the day had made it droop, and now he stared ahead of himself with downtrodden seriousness.

“I know,” Antonio said, “I’m sorry.”

~

Alfred rubbed at his eyes, trying to force the heaviness from them as he sat near the window in their living space, peeking through the iron rods of the fire escape to see as much as he could of the street below. He yawned, more out of habit than any actual tiredness, and glanced over his shoulder at the digital numbers of the clock on the kitchen counter, the bright green-blue letters gently pulsating through the apartment that was still mostly dark with the weak, grey light of early morning, letting him know that it was currently 5:50.

Alfred groaned, not looking forward to whatever trouble he was going to be in when he was inevitably late to work…again. But something about this morning had weighed down on him, and it had taken such a significant chunk of his energy to drag himself out of bed, eat something, and throw on some clothes (he had long since giving up showering before work, knowing that he would just end up smelling like hamburger grease anyway) that he needed to rest, if only for a moment. Of course, once he had allowed himself to get comfortable on the little window ledge, his eyes soothed and almost lulled shut by the continuing darkness, Alfred had found that it was very difficult to remove himself from that spot. He could only hope that, maybe, Arthur would bring some sort of caffeinated beverage for him when he returned home…maybe that was the reason he was taking so long. It was the early morning coffee rush, after all.

Alfred bit his lip, chewing off a piece of peeling skin as he watched the minute turn. 5:51. What could Arthur possibly be doing that was keeping him so many hours after work? Alfred tried to ignore the pangs of worry that insisted on flaring up in his gut every time he thought of his roommate’s unexplained absence.

A couple of minutes had passed, and Alfred was beginning to fight himself to get up and leave, knowing that his shift was practically already starting, when he heard a loud thump on their wooden door, followed by the recognizable sound of someone fumbling with the lock.

After a few seconds of listening to Arthur struggle outside of the door, Alfred finally forced himself to his feet, stepping quickly over to the door to throw it open for Arthur. What he saw at first surprised him, then caused him to raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

Arthur was staring up at him, eyes wide, having dropped his keys to the floor in apparent surprise. Just behind him was a man Alfred had never seen before, who was thin and lanky, towering almost a head taller than Arthur. He seemed just as, if not more, surprised by Alfred’s presence than Arthur.

“Christ, Alfred,” Arthur muttered, bending down to pick his keys up off the floor, “You scared the shit out of me.” As he straightened himself, he looked Alfred in the eyes with a critical expression.   
“Shouldn’t you be at work by now?”

“I was just leaving,” Alfred said, voice slightly deadpan, still standing in the doorway and effectively blocking Arthur and the stranger from entering the apartment, even as Arthur made a move to step inside. “Who’s this?” he asked in the most disinterested way he could muster, cocking his chin in the direction of the man.

Arthur rolled his eyes at Alfred’s tone. “No one important.”

“Hey!” the man said, looking mildly offended.

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur snapped at him, and he fell silent, scowling. “Just go to work, Alfred. They’ll fire you if you keep showing up late like this.”

Alfred’s eyes flashed between the two of them, his tall body still barricading the doorway. “Are you drunk?” he snapped suddenly at Arthur, who fixed him with an angry glare at the accusatory tone.

“No, in fact I am not,” he hissed, “Now, if you would stop acting so ridiculously….”

“Wait,” the strange man spoke up suddenly, looking at Arthur with a hurt expression, “Who’s he?”

“Oh, bloody…” Arthur brought a hand up to rub his temples with his thumb and forefinger, “It isn’t-”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Alfred said seriously, giving the man the most intimidating glare he could muster. With his significant height and strong build, he knew that he could give off a pretty convincing picture of someone not to be fucked with.

For a moment, Arthur gaped at him. Then he blinked, seeming to pull himself together after the shock of hearing Alfred declare them a couple, and scowled in irritation. “What? No, he really isn’t.” Arthur punctuated this statement with warning glare towards Alfred, and a newly invigorated attempt to force himself past Alfred and into the apartment.

“How could you say that?” Alfred said, moving to casually lean on the doorframe as Arthur continued to push at him. “I thought you loved me.” Even Alfred had to admit that his performance was severely lacking in conviction; he blamed his transparently apathetic tone on the early hour. But whether the man believed it or not, the fact that Alfred was maintaining an intimidating amount of eye contact with him was hopefully keeping him updated on Alfred’s feelings, regardless of his and Arthur’s relationship status.

Arthur was raising his eyebrows so high that Alfred vaguely began to fear that they might leave his forehead entirely. “What in god’s name has gotten into you?” he asked, looking at Alfred as if he had just grown about six extra limbs.

But Alfred ignored him, remaining entirely focused on the man, who was looking back and forth between them with equal parts fear and confusion. “I, uh,” he stuttered, causing Arthur’s head to snap in his direction, “I don’t want to cause any trouble or anything. I’ll just…go.”

“No!” Arthur said, reaching out for him as he turned hastily to leave, “Don’t you dare-” But the man broke free of his grasp, eyes wide with panic, and all but ran away down the hallway. For a moment, Arthur remained in the hallway, letting out a growl of frustration. Then, he rounded on Alfred.

“What the bloody fuck was that about?” he all but screamed at his roommate. Alfred didn’t so much as flinch.

“You should come in,” he said calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, “You’re gonna wake people up.”

Arthur glared murderously at Alfred, even as he seemed to recognize the truth in his words, and stepped inside, shaking his coat off of his shoulders and allowing Alfred to shut the door behind him. Once it was closed, Alfred walked over to lean on the counter, and continued to watch Arthur levelly as he continued scolding him in slightly more hushed tones.

“Why the hell did you do that, Alfred?” he hissed, and at this close proximity Alfred could definitively confirm that his friend was not, in fact, intoxicated; the anger burning in Arthur’s green eyes wasn’t sloppy and irrational, but cold and precise, full of genuine confusion and annoyance.

Alfred shrugged at Arthur’s question, looking down to pick at one of his nails. “You would’ve regretted it,” he said.

Arthur let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Oh, really? And I suppose you know that better than I do?”

Alfred didn’t say anything, continuing to look down at his hands. 

Arthur leaned in closer to him, trying to angle his head so that Alfred was forced to look him in the eyes. “Well, I hate to brake this to you Alfred, but I’m not exactly celibate. Just because you don’t usually see it-”

“Stop,” Alfred protested, wincing, “I don’t…I don’t wanna hear about that.”

“No, of course you don’t, now that you’re apparently the jealous, overbearing boyfriend that I never fucking wanted-” 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Alfred said, “Sorry I don’t like the thought of you…of you running around after working as a goddamn stripper, sleeping with a different guy every night-”

At that, Arthur’s face erupted into a terrifying combination of fury, and a cold, biting kind of mockery. “Oh, what are you saying, Alfred? Are you worried that I’m becoming some kind of whore? Are you worried about my honor, Alfred?”

For the first time that morning, Alfred broke through his cool, disinterested haze, and felt a flash of fear, knowing by Arthur’s tone that he had gone a step too far. “No, Arthur I-”

But Arthur cut him off, and Alfred was horrified to see that his eyes were beginning to glisten. “Well, I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step away from him, “But my best friend is sick, and things here are the   
way that they always are, and if I need, for one night, to have a distraction from all of that, I would love to be able to do it without your damned judgment.”

Alfred looked at the floor. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I really don’t know what you want from me, Alfred,” Arthur said, beginning to gain momentum again, sounding almost hysterical as he paced around the small room, “I don’t know what the fuck you want me to be, but this is it. This what you get.” Arthur paused, inhaling deeply a few times to catch his breath. “And it’s all you fucking have, so you’d better get used to it.”

Alfred found himself without any more words to say after that. Before he could do any more than gape at him, Arthur turned to walk towards the bedroom.

“Just go to work, Alfred,” he said quietly, over his shoulder, “You’re terribly late.” Then he stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself with a gentle click.

After a moment of staring after Arthur in a useless attempt to sort out what he was feeling, Alfred shook himself into motion once more, forcing himself to grab his things and head out the door.

As he sprinted to work, the sun rising quickly in the sky, Alfred heard Arthur’s words echo again and again inside his head. I’m all you have.

Then, suddenly, he was hit in a flash by the image of Arthur in a hospital bed, tubes attached to his arms. Of Arthur with terrible fevers and unpredictable fainting spells. Of doctors handing Alfred lists of medications that he knew he could never provide.

Alfred knew that Arthur was capable of taking care of himself. But Arthur was right. He was all Alfred had.

And that’s why Alfred was so scared for him.

~

Feliciano had already almost forgotten how dark and gloomy his old apartment was. As he sat on the edge of the fraying couch, back rigid and hands fidgeting with anxiety, he wondered if the reason the place seemed so sad was because of everything that had happened that day, like all of the worry and fear between the three of them had become trapped and built upon itself in the stuffy apartment, leaving no room for any other thoughts or feelings, any fresh air or light to cut through the weight of their own problems. Feliciano thought that this must be the reason, because he knew this apartment hadn’t felt like such a miserable place before. He had laughed here. He had painted. He had passed lazy, happy days with the people he loved.

And yet, to Feliciano’s shame, all he really wanted at that moment was to go back to the home he shared with Ludwig, where everything was bright and clean and smelled like disinfectant but also Ludwig making breakfast in the kitchen and the nice shampoo that he used, and where he would be held and comforted and safe. Where Ludwig would tell him that everything was going to be alright, and somehow it would make Feliciano feel warm and happy, even if he didn’t actually believe the words.

Ludwig had offered many times to stay the night with Feli in the basement apartment, but Feli had continuously turned him down. This was between himself and his family. He did wish that Ludwig could have come with him to the hospital, though. He could have used someone to hold on to, but Ludwig had been working.

Antonio was asleep in the bedroom. He had protested as he was guided to the bed by Feliciano, wanting to wait for Lovino to return home safely, but in the end his lingering fatigue had gotten the better of him.

After a while of sitting on his own in the dark, Feliciano was startled by the sound of the door being popped open, the wood sticking to the frame and creating a loud thud as they were separated. Once he had gotten over his surprise, Feliciano ran over to the door, where Lovino was standing, eyes blown wide and chest heaving. 

“Lovi!” Feliciano gasped, looking his brother over as he ushered him into the apartment, closing the door shut behind him. He was relieved to see that his brother seemed to be more or less unharmed, with the exception of a small, bruising cut on his chin. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Lovino didn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “Nothing much,” he said, “The guys were drunk, not much of a fight. I hit the one guy a few times, then they ran. How’s Toni?”

“He’s asleep.” Feliciano watched his brother warily as Lovino moved to set down the metal rod that he had still been clutching in one of his hands. His eyes widened as he saw the blood on both the pipe, and on Lovino’s hands, brown and drying, but still recognizable.

Feliciano’s breath hitched, and he walked over to give Lovino’s hands a closer inspection. “Oh, Lovi,” he said, beginning to choke with tears, “What did you do?”

Lovino flashed Feliciano an irritated look. “I told you,” he said, “I didn’t hardly do anything. I just scared them a little.” But tears began to fall down Feliciano’s face regardless, causing Lovino’s own face to soften.

“Listen, Feli,” he said, moving to place his hands on his little brother’s shoulders, but retreating when Feli flinched away from the blood on his hands, “Those guys were drunk, and they were acting like assholes. I didn’t even hurt them- it isn’t a big deal okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

For whatever reason, Lovino’s words made Feliciano cry harder, not less. “But…why did you do that, fratello? I don’t…I don’t understand….”

Lovino sighed. His eyes glinted in the dim light of the apartment, deep an brown and serious. “You can’t always just let people shit on you, Feli,” he said, “You have to stand up for yourself, otherwise they’ll just keep doing it. You have to stand up for the people you care about. Get it?”

Feliciano didn’t get it, didn’t understand what his brother’s actions had possibly helped, but he decided to stay silent, nodding his head almost imperceptivity in the hope that Lovino would drop the subject.

“You should wash your hands,” Feliciano sniffed, “Here, I’ll help you….”

~

Feliciano was shaken awake early the next morning by an aggressive pounding on the door. Through the fog in his still-waking mind, he could make out the sounds of people shouting, causing him to force his eyes open enough to see what was going on.

His brother was standing in front of the couch where Feli was sleeping, hair still sticking up, his tired eyes blown wide and staring at the door with panic. Out of the corner of his eye he must have seen Feliciano stirring, because he quickly turned to his brother.

“Feli,” Lovino said breathlessly, kneeling down so that he could be at eye level with Feliciano, whose head was still resting on his pillow even as his eyes blinked blearily open. “You have to stay right there okay? Just pretend to be asleep. I have to-”

Lovino was cut off by a voice on the other side of the door, and he turned around and back to his feet, standing in front of Feliciano protectively. 

“This is the police,” the voice yelled through the door, with the irritated tone of someone who was tired of repeating himself, “We have a warrant for your arrest. If you don’t let us in, we will have to use force.”

Feliciano sat up on the couch, suddenly very awake as he began to process what was happening. "Lovino,” he said, looking between the door and his brother in terror, “Oh no, no, no…”

“It’s going to be fine, Feli,” Lovino said, although his voice wavered, and his body was trembling. He seemed to be stuck in his current position, neither moving towards or away from the people who were there to apprehend him.

“Hey, is anyone in there?” the voice continued, followed by more rough hits to the door, “Open up!”

“You have to let them in, Lovi,” said a tired voice from behind them. Both brothers turned to see Antonio leaning on the doorframe to the bedroom, eyes glistening and expression serious. “They will come   
in anyway. It is better if you go easy.”

Lovino began to cry at Antonio’s words, face scrunching in a useless attempt to contain his tears. Feliciano thought that it made him look like he was a little boy again. How could they arrest someone who looked like that?

“I’m sorry,” Lovino choked.

Antonio shook his head. “It will be alright. We will figure something out, I promise.”

Lovino nodded. He went to embrace the older man, but at that moment the pounding on the door became alarmingly aggressive, and Lovino, after a deep breath, went to it.

There were two policemen at the door when Lovino finally opened it. One was holding a clipboard and, looking down at it said, “Yup, that’s him.”

The second officer stepped inside the apartment, grabbing Lovino roughly by the wrists, turning him around, and producing a pair of handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for assault.”

“This is crazy,” Lovino said wriggling a bit in the officer’s hold, “I swear, I barely touched them-”

“We’ll settle all that later,” the man said, sounding almost bored.

Feliciano had stood up when Lovino had opened the door and was now openly crying. When the officer gave a particularly jarring shove to Lovino in an attempt to force him out of the doorway, Feli ran to his brother in near hysterics. 

“No, stop!” Feli sobbed, grabbing onto Lovino’s shirt, “Please, he didn’t do anything that bad-”

“Hey, get off!” The man commanded, surprised by Feliciano’s sudden involvement. He gave took one hand off of Lovino to give Feliciano a quick swipe, knocking him off his feet and sending him to the ground, sobbing.

Lovino’s lip curled, and he began struggling again, harder than before. “Don’t you dare touch him!” he snarled. But then he looked down at Feli crying on the floor, And Antonio, who had run over to help him, and let out a breath, allowing them to guide him out the door without any continued resistance. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he called to them over his shoulder.

The door was slammed shut, Lovino and the two police officers disappearing on the other side. Feliciano continued to cry, while Antonio held him, looking him over for bruises and attempting to comfort   
him.

“Shh, papito,” he soothed wearily, “It will be all right.”

But suddenly, Feliciano picked his head up off Antonio’s chest wiping the tears from his still leaking eyes. 

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said thickly, placing his hand on his knees to pick himself up, “Here, let me help you. Do you want something to eat?”

He reached out a hand to help Antonio up, walking him back to the bedroom. Once Toni was comfortable, he went to the kitchen area, preparing the two of them breakfast with solemn determination. Feliciano sighed, closing his eyes.

“It will be alright,” he whispered to himself, though his tears continued to flow.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry this took so long again, I'm having a busy time at school, and I just could not make myself be happy with this chapter for some reason. I won't go on about specifically what i'm worried about, but I hope I'm just worrying unnecessarily, and that it's okay! 
> 
> And, as always, thank you so much for reading, and comments are so appreciated. They really keep me going and help me through little slumps like this! You're all so great and important to me, honestly.
> 
> P.S. I know I mentioned this a while ago, but if you ever want to contact me, my tumblr is ameriphobia.tumblr.com. That's where I put things I've written that I've deemed too short or too bad to put on here, and do I take some requests as well! If anyone's interested (: Anyway, I hope you like this chapter!

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Feliciano didn’t look up at Ludwig, unsurprised by the question that had already been asked so many times that day. Instead he continued to rummage through his and Ludwig’s handsome wooden dresser in search of one of his favorite shirts, wondering how something could have gone missing when Ludwig always made sure that everything was neat and orderly.

“I’ll be fine,” Feli said as he stretched to inspect the back of the drawer. When he straightened himself back out, still unsuccessful, his soft brown hair was fluffed up delicately with static, and his face slightly flushed from the blood that had gone to his head. Resigning that he had probably lost the shirt in the laundry, as he had a tendency to do, Feli turned his attention to Ludwig. Feli’s smile was soft, like the smile one would give to an upset child. “You can’t live in that apartment, Ludwig,” he said, without explanation, as if this statement didn’t require one, “And we need someone to look after things here!”

“You know I wouldn’t mind,” Ludwig said, the words coming from low in his throat, gruff and quiet. Feliciano always thought that Ludwig sounded like that when he was hiding himself, like his words were coming from somewhere deep inside that he was reluctant to expose. Ludwig had sounded like this ever since he had learned of Lovino’s arrest early that morning. 

“And Antonio is welcome to come here,” Ludwig added, and the corner of Feliciano’s mouth quirked up, the closest thing to a mocking expression that he in his candidness could achieve. He hid it by ducking his head back down to check the drawer one last time.

“I know, mi amore. But I told you that it would upset him to move. He feels more comfortable at home.”

Ludwig made a small sound in the back of his throat, just a hint of acknowledgement of Feliciano’s words. Then, after a quiet moment of watching Feli continue to struggle with the clothes, Ludwig gave his boyfriend a light tap on his bent back. When Feliciano turned around, it was to see that Ludwig was holding the shirt in his one hand.

“It was under the bed,” Ludwig said, guiltily playing with one of the hems, “From the other night.” And now Ludwig’s cheeks colored that lovey shade of pink.

Feliciano’s eyes flickered up and down, from the shirt to Ludwig, before he smiled a loving smile. As warm as the expression was, Ludwig was unsettled by the perception that there was something underneath it, something hard, like bedrock. He felt that if he prodded, if he tried to stick a shovel into the ground to plant flowers, he would be met by the resistance of cold stone.

“Ludwig, were you messing with me?” Feli said, playfully enough, forcing a slightly bashful smile out of Ludwig. 

Feliciano took the shirt, giving Ludwig a quick kiss on the cheek as payment. Then he made his way over to the bed, where a small suitcase was resting, open and nearly filled. “Well, I guess that’s it!” Feli chirped, tucking the last straggling article into his luggage. “I’m ready to go.”

He had just closed the latch on the suitcase when Ludwig spoke, causing Feli’s body to freeze, his hands resting delicately on the clasp.

“Please let me come with you,” Ludwig said, “Feliciano, please let me help you with all of this.”

Feliciano stared down at the hands on his suitcase. “I’m sorry Ludwig,” he nearly whispered, “I just don’t think that that’s a good idea right now.”

Ludwig scowled, deep lines forming along his forehead in the pattern of wind-blown sand. Slowly, he made his way over to the bed, taking a seat on it. His body sunk into the mattress, leaving a depression in the plush floral covers that Feliciano had recently chosen. He rested a hand on Feliciano’s, attempting to look up and into the other’s eyes.

Feliciano began to cry.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” Ludwig asked softly, as delicate round tears fell from Feliciano’s closed eyes, his somber face reminding Ludwig of a renaissance painting, a work of classical art. “Are you angry with me?”

A still moment passed, and Feliciano opened his eyes, ruining the illusion of a masterpiece with his red eyes and dripping nose. Ludwig preferred it, and gently guided Feliciano to sit with him on the bed, wrapping a strong arm around delicate shoulders. 

“Is that what you do, Ludwig?” Feli whimpered into Ludwig’s shoulder, “Go into people’s houses and, and take them away, and hurt them-”

Ludwig tensed, scowling. “I told you, Feli, that officer should never have knocked you down. If you could tell me what he looked like, I might be able to-”

“That doesn’t matter,” Feliciano said, emotionally, his rapidly falling tears like those of a frustrated child. He pulled away from Ludwig to sit up straight and look him in the eyes, “What matters is that they took Lovino away.”

Ludwig sighed. “I know that you are upset about your brother. But…he did break the law, Feliciano.”

Feliciano’s face suddenly contorted in anger, an expression so unlike himself that it looked unnatural, even grotesque, to Ludwig, who let his sentence die immediately, although there was no way for him to force back the words that had already been said.

“How could you say that!” Feliciano said, tears falling again with renewed energy.

Ludwig recoiled in horror from Feli’s reaction, not having anticipated its force. “Feliciano, I was just-”

Feliciano had stood up from his place near Ludwig on the bed, and grabbed his suitcase. As he spoke, he bustled around the apartment opening drawers and searching for things he may have left behind. It was an excuse not to look at Ludwig, and it was an excuse not to leave now and slam the door behind them, leaving them both in a state of uncertainty.

“You never liked him,” Feliciano sniffed, rustling around on the bookshelves. “You always thought he was a- a criminal, or something-”

“No, Feli-”

“But he’s my brother!” Feliciano yelled, turning to face Ludwig, and allowing his suitcase to fall to the carpeted floor with a dull thump. Ludwig flinched, although the shouting wasn’t in any way cruel or accusatory. It was more of a proclamation than anything, an expression of pain like the senseless howling of a lone wolf. The wetness of Feliciano’s tears washed away any existing venom.

“Do you think,” Feliciano gasped, crumbling further with every passing moment, “Do you think that I never broke any laws, Ludwig? That I never…stole anything, because we didn’t have enough, or….”  
Feliciano faded out, sniffling, and gave Ludwig a wide-eyed expression that Ludwig, with a horrified pang, recognized as fear. He finally got up, walking cautiously over to his boyfriend and, when he was sure that Feliciano wasn’t going to protest, wrapping his arms around him comfortingly.

“Do you think I deserve to go to jail, Ludwig?” Feliciano said, quiet and small, into Ludwig’s chest.

“Oh, Feli,” Ludwig said. He was stroking Feliciano’s hair gently. He had never felt more ashamed. “Of course I don’t think that.”

Feliciano trembled against Ludwig, face still hidden in the fabric of his shirt.

“I wish I could fix all of this,” Ludwig choked, eyes starting to fill with tears, “I with that more than anything. But I just don’t know how.” He felt frustration overwhelming him- how is it that he could be a police officer, and yet he had no ability to help the people he loved to get the justice and fairness they deserved? In fact, it seemed that his position was in some ways preventing him from helping Feliciano and his family. What was worse, Ludwig was now haunted by the thought of how many families like Feli’s he had helped to tear apart…and he was burdened and strained by the parts of him that still believed in the legitimacy of Lovino’s arrest. He had broken the law, after all, but who was to say that the law was right? The amount of suffering caused as punishment seemed so disproportionate to   
the wrong that had been done.

Lost in these thoughts, Ludwig nearly became unaware of Feliciano’s presence in his arms, the other man’s warmth simply starting to meld into an extension of his own body. But when Feliciano pulled away, he left a cold phantom presence on Ludwig’s body, and Ludwig wished that he could pull him back in.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Feli said, wiping his eyes hastily as he moved to pick up his luggage. Before he left, he came to stand before Ludwig one last time.

“I promise I’ll come back,” he repeated, looking up at Ludwig with red-rimmed eyes full of longing, and also of certainty. Ludwig felt warmth run through his body, not having realized until that moment   
that his body had gone cold and tense with fear.

But Ludwig didn’t have a chance to respond to Feliciano’s promise, or to return it. Before he could think of the words, Feli had covered his mouth briefly with a soft kiss, and turned away to leave, bag in hand, to return once again to his family’s home. 

~

Feliciano paused outside of the courtroom. Never looking away from the entrance, he took a moment of time to fidget; to run his hands down his clothes, to straighten them, to correct his posture and the upward angle of his chin. He tried to dissipate the feeling that he was so different from the other people who were streaming into the courtroom- that they were another species from him entirely, a mass of people with stable jobs and maybe spouses and children and who had donned professional clothing for the occasion. From where Feliciano stood, their world seemed so very separate from his, and he worried. How would these people see his brother? How could they possibly understand the life they lived?

Feliciano loved people, and he liked to think that the boundaries that divided one person from the next could be overcome, that there was something fundamental that was shared between all human beings. His relationship with Ludwig was certainly a testament to that- and yet he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that he was a lone creature in a vast ocean of something that was out of his grasp, caged in by walls that he hadn’t put up, and that he simply wasn’t strong enough to bring down.

Underlying this loneliness was the knowledge that all of these people who were brought with them nothing but obligation and indifference, while Feliciano stood on a waving cusp between what felt like life and death. That, more than anything, made Feli feel so severed from the experiences of those around him.

It was this realization, and the weight of significance and complete independence on his back, that prompted Feliciano to straighten himself, take a deep breath, and step into the courtroom. 

~

“How much could they charge him, though, really?” Arthur said. His tone was remarkably casual, in a way that made it difficult to tell if he were honestly not worried, or if he was putting on a show to help keep Antonio’s blood pressure from going to places that would be a risk to his already fragile health. Even after so many years of knowing him, Antonio still had trouble noticing when Arthur was putting up that smokescreen- he had always been the master of putting on a show, of any kind. Lacking the energy to think about this, Antonio sighed.

“A few years, maybe. Maybe more.”

Arthur stilled, all natural, subtle bits of movement coming to a halt in his surprise. “Shit,” he mumbled after a second, leaning back into Antonio’s the old couch, eyebrows furrowing enough to become nearly a single entity. He gave Antonio an odd look when he smiled slightly at the mental image.

“They did say that sometimes they can negotiate other charges,” Antonio said, looking down at his hands, his calloused fingers. “He might not have to go at all.”

“Go out and clean some highways or some shit, right?” Arthur said, smiling encouragingly. He was itching for a cigarette, and Toni could tell- his hands were twitching ever so slightly, making miniscule movements towards a crutch that wasn’t there. The two of them never spoke about Antonio’s illness, but traces of it found its way into their friendship regardless, appearing in minute changes and abnormalities in their behavior. Arthur’s refusal to bring his poison into Toni’s home was one of these changes, although Antonio wasn’t entirely sure how much difference it made, in the end.   
When Antonio merely shrugged in response to his suggestion, Arthur took a deep, meaningful breath, shaking his head softly. “Damned idiot. I always worried about that temper of his getting him into trouble.”

Antonio laughed. “You are one to talk about temper. Or trouble.”

Arthur gave him a light jab in the wrist with his elbow. “Oh, shut it.” Then he sobered, smile faltering. “Things have changed,” he said.

“You talk like an old man, Arthur. I know there is a part of you that is still a good-for-nothing punk.”

Arthur smirked, a gleam of pride in eyes at Antonio’s perception of him. “Well, now I have Alfred to get into all of my trouble for me.”   
They both laughed a little, just enjoying the break from the emotion and the tension. Finding relief in being with someone who understood their need to forget about it, and their lack of reverence for the concept of sitting in one’s suffering, and reveling in it. In their own ways, they were both the emotional equivalent of bulldozers- shoving past and running over anything in their path, carrying on with themselves as if nothing were there at all.

This pleasant moment of serenity was cracked by the gentle opening of the apartment door, with Feliciano appearing a second later. His movements were subdued, his head angled down towards the carpet at his feet.

“Feliciano?” Antonio said, eyes growing wider by a fraction of an inch, as if creating more surface area with which to gauge Feli’s actions and expression. Arthur, too, perked up in interest, but it showed only through the slightest flicker of his eyes, the most miniscule purse of his lips.

Feliciano managed a small smile for the two of them, weak yet sincere. “Hi Antonio. Hi Arthur.”

When the two older men continued to watch Feliciano expectantly, his eyes returned to the floor. Not looking at either of them, he shook his head softly.

Antonio swallowed something invisible down his throat, and closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall onto the back of the couch. Arthur swore fiercely, but quietly, looking down at the laced hands his lap.  
Feliciano didn’t move, continuing to stand ridged before them as if he were still on the stand. Although no visible tears found their way down his face, his chest heaved and his voice shook like he was sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, “I couldn’t-”

Antonio sprung to his feet. “Oh no, no, Feliciano,” he said, placing a consoling hand on Feliciano’s shoulder, “It isn’t your fault.”

There was a moment of empty silence, a hole that none of them knew how to fill. During this time, Arthur realized with shock that he could see faint grey circles under Feli’s eyes, like shadows. He had never seen the man look so tired.

“You should go be with Ludwig,” Arthur said suddenly, causing Feliciano to look up, “I don’t have to work until late, so I can stay here. Why don’t you go spend some time together.”

Feliciano looked up at Antonio, a bit reminiscent of a child looking to a parent for permission. “I- I shouldn’t,” he said, “I should be here with you….”

Antonio gave Feli a squeeze. “You don’t have to stay with me all the time. Arthur and I will be just fine for a few hours.”

Feli let out a long breath, before nodding, his desperation to be with Ludwig showing through just the smallest bit. 

“Go on, then,” Arthur said, something painful within himself empathizing deeply with the look of desperation in Feliciano’s eyes. Arthur swallowed, pushing that sick, frightening feeling of loss and longing away for the thousandth time.

Feliciano nodded once more, before going into what used to be his bedroom and working space to change clothes and call his boyfriend. Through the door, Arthur and Antonio could hear the wavering tone of Feli’s voice, shattering more and more as he told Ludwig the news.

Arthur and Antonio didn’t say anything more to one another, allowing Feliciano’s indistinguishable conversation to fill the void of sound. While out of Feliciano’s sight, Antonio allowed his head to fall into his hands, body becoming still, as if he had left it.

Arthur shuddered as Feliciano reentered the main room. Feli was obviously trying to look as if he weren’t rushing to leave, but the strength with which he was being compelled to the door was obvious to Arthur. 

Before he left, Feliciano gave both of them a meaningful hug. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said sweetly, before turning to walk out the door, leaving Arthur and Antonio to themselves once again.

~

“How was work today?” Feli asked from his side of the table, hands folded in his lap. After all, this was the thing that he had so loved getting used to, and that he had already begun to miss- the regrouping at their home at the end of the day, catching up, sharing with each other. And then helping each other to relax and enjoy the free time, simply by being there, becoming one another’s comfort, their break from the coinciding monotony and chaos of everyday life.

So Feliciano wasn’t happy when Ludwig failed to answer his simple question, merely allowing his eyes to stray from Feliciano’s own to deflect their guilty expression. Feli huffed, almost silently, a misplaced frustration built on a bed of other anxieties welling up in his stomach.

“I’m not going to get mad at you,” he said, looking down at his hands, “I just want to talk about normal things.” 

Ludwig’s eyes flickered back to him, concern evident from the rivets in his forehead. “Are you sure?” he asked, tentative.

Feliciano nodded. He straightened himself a bit, taking in a large breath, as if the extra air would prop up his spine and support his smile. “Yes,” he said, “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I just want to have fun with you!”

Ludwig nodded, although Feli couldn’t help but notice that he continued to look at him with worry, as one would watch someone they were visiting at the hospital. It shattered the image of a pleasant evening out as Ludwig went on to talk about his day. But Feliciano smiled and nodded anyway, willing to play his part with more conviction, if only to lift his own spirits.

After dinner, Feliciano took Ludwig’s arm as he always did, and Ludwig began to guide them in the direction of Feli’s old home. 

“It’s such a nice night,” Feli mentioned, almost serenely. Ludwig agreed, noting the gentle breeze and mild temperature, the subtle smell and feeling of autumn in the air, and yet still free from the biting temperatures of October. 

“We should go for a walk,” Feliciano continued, “Arthur still doesn’t have to go to work for a little while. And I think that he and Antonio are having fun spending time together.”  
Ludwig watched Feliciano steadily for a brief moment, before smiling, and bending down to press a light kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “I think that is a good idea,” he said. He wanted this time with Feli to last for as long as possible, now that it was uncertain when they would be able to begin living together again. 

They held hands as they walked, shadows of darkness making the moment feel private even in the streetlights, even in the constant company of the people around them. They didn’t once speak about a destination, but Feliciano subtly guided them, making the turns he wanted and allowing Ludwig to make them with him. Eventually they came to the Brooklyn Bridge, where Feliciano brought them onto the footpath.

They were silent as they made the journey across the long bridge, simply holding hands and bracing themselves against the influx of wind. To either side of them, the lights of distant buildings glowed, creating brilliant skylines. Feliciano watched them with as much joy as if he had never seen any of it before. But Ludwig watched Feliciano’s eyes, and how the lights were reflected in them.

They remained like this as they strolled along the waterfront in Brooklyn, just enjoying the scenery and each other, both trying to quiet their own minds. Eventually, though, Feli felt that the silence became more crushing than peaceful, and began seeking a distraction.

“Ludwig! We should ride the carousel.”

Ludwig winced, thinking of how ridiculous he would look riding a wooden pony, but knowing that he couldn’t deny Feliciano his request. So they made their way over to the ride, the glass room surrounding it glowing with light. 

Feliciano laughed as Ludwig struggled to mount his wooden steed, finally managing to throw one leg over the other side, body obviously a bit too large for the ride. But Feli giggled more at the picture he made once he was on, and the laugh was genuine, so Ludwig couldn’t care too much about his embarrassment.

Feliciano, meanwhile, looked perfectly in place on his own horse, with the motion of the ride blowing his russet hair and the image of the glimmering bridge drifting by behind him as they circled. The swirl of motion and sound made it feel like a dream, and Feli was smiling again, so it was a dream that Ludwig wanted to stay in.

The ride was so surreal that at first Ludwig didn’t notice the change in Feli, when his smile began to fall, the glimmer in his eyes fading, and his cheeks became wet with tears. When he did see this, Ludwig immediately jumped out of his seat and to Feliciano. He lost his balance slightly as the floor moved underneath him, and wished that he could just make the right stop. 

Make it stop make it stop make it stop…. 

He put a hand on Feliciano’s shoulder, saying nothing as Feli began to cry harder, the physical contact drawing the tears and sobs out of his body. After a few moments, the circular movement of the ride began to slow, the music fading out like an unwinding music box. 

Feliciano attempted to hide his red face as they stepped back out into the night, the slight chill in the air seeming more prominent after having been inside. No one was paying either of them much attention, but Feliciano still took Ludwig’s hand and pulled him towards the street as if he were fleeing mocking eyes. When they came to a hidden corner between red brick buildings, Feliciano stopped.   
He didn’t give himself or Ludwig any time to breath before he was kissing him.

Ludwig let out a stifled grunt in surprise, pulling himself away at small intervals to take quick breaths, but Feliciano was clear in his intent. Soon, Ludwig was pinned against the cold brick, blushing at the publicity, the suddenness, the aggressiveness of Feliciano’s actions. He felt overwhelmed, but he also felt loved and wanted and that he didn’t want his ever to stop. He never wanted Feliciano to be gone from his life again, even for a day.

But when Ludwig became aware of the wetness on his cheeks, that Feli was still crying, he grabbed his boyfriend’s shoulder’s separating them by an arm’s distance. Feliciano looked a mess, fragile and vulnerable- eyes red and puffed, hair ruffled by the wind and Ludwig’s hand, and a look of shock on his face, as if he were surprised by himself, and frightened. When he met Ludwig’s eyes, he gasped put a sudden sob, pressing his face forward into Ludwig’s chest, where Ludwig held him. 

“I miss you,” Feliciano cried, quietly, into Ludwig’s chest. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too.”

Feliciano shook his head, pulling it away to look up at Ludwig with watery eyes. “But I, I shouldn’t…I should be sad about Lovino, and I am, but all I can think about is that I can’t be with you now! And that I want to go back home with you and I don’t want to take care of Antonio, because I don’t think I know how, and I’m so selfish, Ludwig, what’s wrong with me?”

Ludwig shook his head, pulling Feli back in against him and wrapping him in his arms. “Nothing is wrong with you. Everything else is wrong.” Sighing, he kissed the top of Feliciano’s head, “And I want all of those things too. So if you’re selfish, than I am too.”

Feliciano pulled away with a small, watery smile. “You’re not selfish,” he said honestly. Ludwig returned the smile, pulling Feliciano in again to rub soothing circles onto his back.

“It will be okay, Feli,” Ludwig said, voice almost stern with resolve, “I promise.”

~

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do, Ludwig.”

“Please, Roderich. There has to be something. I’m begging you.”

There was a languid, dramatic sigh from the other end of the line, and Ludwig was glad that his brother couldn’t see his irritated expression from the other end of the city, because it would certainly put Roderich off of doing anything to help him.

“I never thought I would see the day when you would come begging to me for something, Ludwig,” Roderich said, and Ludwig swore he could see the smug expression on his brother’s face.

Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want?” he asked.

Roderich let out an indignant huff. “I am not trying to get anything out of you. I do want to help you and Feliciano. It is just-” Roderich was interrupted by the sound of his daughter crying. “I’m sorry Ludwig, I should go help Liza….”

“No!” Ludwig blurted, swearing under his breath as his startled movement caused him to smash his free hand into the nearby coffee table. “Please, just try. It is…they are family now, Roderich. All of them.   
They need help, and I would give it to them if I could, but I just,” the words stuck in Ludwig’s throat at first, and he paused. “I just don’t have enough. Please just see what you can do.”

The crying in the background became louder, and Ludwig now could hear Elizabeta’s voice, as well.

“I’m coming!” Roderich shouted, then, returning to his and Ludwig’s conversation, “Fine. I will see if I can find something. I have to go now, goodbye!”

“Thank you,” Ludwig said, breathing a sigh of relief, “Thank you so much. I-” 

Roderich hung up the phone before Ludwig could complete the sentiment. But it didn’t bother Ludwig, who smiled to himself even as he listened to the harsh dial tone.

~

Feliciano’s phone was beginning to cramp from how tightly he was gripping it, all of the places where his soft hand met lifeless plastic joined by a layer of warm, anxious sweat. The current empty space on the other end of the line crackled slightly, and Feli’s stomach turned over, fearing that this connection to his brother was only a dream, that it had just been a cruel joke when the recorded message of the prison had played into his ear, before releasing him into apparent dead air.

After a few seconds that felt like a lifetime each to Feliciano, there was a heavy click in his ear, followed by a familiar voice.

“Feli?” it said, sounding slightly choked, “Fratello? Are you there?”

For an empty moment, Feliciano couldn’t muster the strength to speak to his brother, the stinging well of tears forming in the back of his throat preventing him. But he forced himself past them soon enough, worried that Lovino might think that he wasn’t there, and hang up.

“Lovino,” he gasped, moving to lean his head against the hard surface of the nearest wall, “How are you? Are you okay?” The question seemed pointless, obvious, and yet it needed to be asked- Lovino could not feel entirely ‘okay’, but his heart could still be beating, he could still have will in his gut to carry on. These were the things that Feliciano wanted to know.

“Yeah,” Lovino said, surprising Feli with his earnest answer, “I’m alright, I’ll be fine. Are you okay? How’s Toni? God, Feli, I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot…”

Feliciano sniffed quietly, but tried to keep the tears slowly trailing down his face from creating any sound. “We’re fine. We miss you, but….”

“Yeah,” Lovino said, “I miss you too. So much. But we’ll get through it, okay?”

“I know. I know we will.”

“I- I love you, Feli. Okay? Please remember that.”

A rogue sob broke from Feliciano’s throat at his brother’s words, and he took a moment to collect himself again. “I love you too,” he breathed, weakly.

“I have to go now,” Lovino said, “I promise I’ll stay in touch.”

“Me too. I’ll come and visit soon, I promise.”

After that, the line went dead, severing Feliciano’s connection to his brother.

 

~

It was nearly a month after Lovino had been arrested. Feliciano stirred the cooking food in the pot in front of him, steam from the softly boiling water coming up to warm his face, leaving a slight wet residue on his skin. Behind him, Arthur and Antonio were sitting on the couch together, bickering gently as they messed around with Toni’s guitar, almost in the process of creating music again. Hearing Arthur hum half-formed melodies while Antonio strummed chords seemingly at random made Feliciano smile. Despite the many less pleasant reasons for Arthur’s sudden increased presence in Antonio’s life, it still brought a welcomed relief into their household. 

“Uhg,” Arthur said suddenly, wincing as Antonio struck a particularly sour chord. “Is that thing out of tune?”

Antonio sighed. “It’s just getting old. I can’t get it to stay in tune for more than an hour….”

“Well, it sounds bloody terrible,” Arthur said matter-of-factly.

“The pasta’s almost ready!” Feliciano interrupted, moving to dump some of the pasta water into the sink. Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Feli, looking uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to do that….” he mumbled, looking down at his jeans.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Feliciano said happily, “I like to cook. And you’re a guest!”

“Am I?” Arthur said, raising an eyebrow. Antonio smirked. 

Feliciano ignored them, knowing that neither of them would feed themselves anything decent unless he intervened at some point during the day. 

“Are you sure Alfred doesn’t want to come over?” Feliciano asked Arthur as he began dishing the food into little plastic bowls that were much more efficient for couch-dinners than plates. He couldn’t help but notice Arthur’s face turn a bit sour at the mention of Alfred, nose wrinkling a bit in poorly hidden displeasure.

“No, he’s probably playing his video games or something,” Arthur mumbled, “I always ask him if he wants to come, of course. He always says no.”

The room became noticeably quiet for a moment, the absence of music or talking or Feliciano cooking leaving a void. In that moment, Feliciano and Antonio’s eyes met, both expressing a shared concern.

“I don’t know, Arthur,” Antonio said, offhand, always one to avoid confrontation. “Maybe you should talk to him. He must be having a hard time since his family left….”

“We’re all having a hard time,” Arthur snapped. “None of us have holed ourselves away from reality…trust me, he’s just being childish. He needs to learn how to handle himself like an adult.”

Antonio frowned, but didn’t say anything. Neither did Feliciano. It was generally understood among all of them that when it came to Alfred, Arthur was the authority. After all, to the rest of them, he was just a boy who had all but fallen out of the sky and into their lives a handful of years ago. Arthur was the only one with any real insight into his past.

After Feliciano had handed bowls to both of them, and taken a seat with his own generous helping, the muffled sound of Feli’s phone buzzing through his pocket stopped him with his fork halfway to his mouth. When he managed to fish the phone out from his tight jeans, what he saw on the screen made him knit his eyebrows in confusion. 

 

“What is it, Feliciano?” Antonio asked with slight concern.

“Um, nothing,” Feli said, distracted, eyes still on his phone. Then he stood up, setting his full bowl onto the couch delicately. “It’s Ludwig. I have to go.”

Antonio laughed, a little teasingly. “The only thing in the world that could take you away from your dinner.”

Feliciano spared him a brief, half-smile, but was already halfway to the door, not entirely registering Antonio’s words. The tone and content of Ludwig’s message telling him to meet him outside had been strange, and Feliciano was eager to get out and make sure that everything was okay.

It seemed as if Arthur or Antonio might have called something after him as he stepped outside the door, but Feliciano didn’t spare them any of his attention. He was entirely focused on getting to Ludwig. 

But when he stepped outside, into the gray, humid late afternoon, he was greeted by a Ludwig who seemed completely healthy and whole, and who smiled gently when he saw him.

“What’s going on?” Feliciano said, stepping closer to Ludwig as if to inspect him for damage, “Is everything okay?”

Ludwig nodded, still smiling warmly, but looking a little bit nervous, or…guilty? In fact, Ludwig was looking a little bit like the cat who had swallowed the canary, which was really a very new expression for   
him.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry,” Ludwig said, looking down and fidgeting with his hands. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just…have to tell you something, and, I didn’t want you to feel pressured to accept, by your family, if, if you don’t want to….”

Feliciano stared at him. “Ludwig….”

Ludwig blushed a bit. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. But, it was uncertain, and I didn’t want you to be disappointed...” When Feliciano gave him no more prompting than to increase his expression of confusion, Ludwig reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that looked like it had been folded into three sections, like it had been inside of an envelope. 

Ludwig cleared his throat, a nervous tick that Feliciano knew only appeared when Ludwig was at his most anxious. “Well, I, you know that Roderich, he works in the art world. Well, he has connections, and I asked him to do some asking around and, well, he found this contest. This organization makes maps of the city, different maps, that are meant to show places and things that most of them don’t, and they had a contest whose artwork would be on the covers. They had people send in things about themselves, and some art, and…” 

Ludwig blushed a little then, just a dash of rosy red tinting the tips of his ears. “I know I should have asked you, but I just took a few pictures of the paintings you left at home, and…” He handed the paper over to Feli, hand shaking a little, but with a proud smile that almost left Feliciano entirely breathless. “And you won, Feliciano. You were one of the winners.”

At first, Feliciano didn’t take the paper. He simply stared at it were it rested in Ludwig’s hand, like he still didn’t completely understand what he was saying. He swallowed thickly. “What?”

“There is prize money,” Ludwig continued, as he got Feli to take the paper with a little prodding, “That’s what you get right away, and then you get some of the profit from every map they sell. And, Feliciano, that isn’t it. This is something that people pay attention to. Rodrich says that there are already people who want to buy your paintings. Galleries, even.”

Now it was Feliciano’s hand that trembled as he read the letter, eyes beginning to blink rapidly as he struggled to take in all that was suddenly being thrown at him. It took him a few seconds before his eyes latched on to the numbers. The numbers.

“Ludwig…” Feliciano said, “This is enough to cover Lovino’s bail.”

Ludwig nodded. “And when you get from the sales should be enough to take care of Antonio’s medical expenses. Everything else will probably still be a stretch, but those things will be taken care of. And hopefully it will lead to more opportunities for you.”

Feliciano didn’t speak, because he wasn’t sure if he could get words past the lump in his throat, and even if he could, he wasn’t sure what they would be. He just continued to tremble, not violently, just the slightest physical manifestation of the emotion brimming inside. He closed his eyes, and tears fell onto his cheeks, quickly gaining momentum and breaking out in gasping sobs.

Ludwig stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Feliciano, closing his own eyes and pressing a kiss to Feliciano’s forehead. When Feliciano sucked in gasping breaths, Ludwig could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

People strolled by them, most rushing to get where they were going before the rain inevitably came, but a few pairs of eyes wandering to see the spectacle that Ludwig and Feli made. For once, Ludwig didn’t care what they thought; for now, everything was right in his world.

After a few minutes of quiet, the sound of a door opening and closing had Ludwig and Feliciano breaking apart. Arthur and Antonio were there, looking at the two of them with concern.

“It’s okay,” Feliciano said, wiping the corner of one of his eyes with his finger. Then, he laughed, realizing what he must look like. Antonio and Arthur continued to look at him with confusion.  
Feliciano looked up at Ludwig, tears still trailing down his face, and smiled brilliantly.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

~

Arthur ducked into the bathroom, taking a minute to peek at his reflection in the dirty old mirror and sighing. Spending more time with Antonio again had him reminiscing about a time when he had little enough to worry about that he could focus on his appearances- beyond the irritating amount of trimming and primping that was required for his job- and had invested money and energy in hair dying, in piercings, in using his appearance to express something about himself, and maybe to prove some things to himself, as well. 

Arthur frowned at his reflection. Blond hair, no piercings to speak of, plain t-shirt. Boring. 

But maybe now was the time to get back to all of that? After all, Antonio was fine (well, as he would ever be) because of his new medications, Alfred was an adult, and could take care of himself (more or less), and he had a beautiful and perfect new set of drums to his name. 

Hell, I’m only twenty-six, Arthur thought, catching a whim and beginning to splash a light amount of water onto his hair, ruffling it with his fingers until it stood up even more than it did naturally, it isn’t like my life is over.

When he was finished, he paused for a moment, admiring himself. Then, his moment of tranquility was shattered by the sound of a terrible explosion, followed by several piecing screams. Arthur jumped   
in surprise, before making an irritated sound and stepping out of the bathroom.

“Christ, Alfred, can you turn that down?” he snapped, glaring at his roommate.

Alfred’s eyes flickered up to Arthur from where he was sitting on the floor, cross-legged in front of the television. “What did you do to your hair?” he said, although not sounding particularly interested as he returned his attention the graphically decomposing zombies on the screen.

Arthur scowled, reaching up to flatten his hair in annoyance. “Ugh. Nevermind. But you should shut that down; we’re leaving soon.”

“Can’t,” Alfred said, this time not sparing Arthur even a glance, “I can’t save it until I get to the next point.”

Arthur gave Alfred a nasty look that he thankfully didn’t see because of the dedicated attention he was playing to his video game. “What does it matter? You’ve played all of these games a thousand times already. Your friend just got out of jail. Don’t you even care?”

It was true- it had taken a bit of time, but Feliciano had finally managed to put his wealth to good use, and Lovino had been officially released earlier that day. Neither Arthur nor Alfred had seen him yet, but they had plans to get all of their friends together that night to celebrate Lovino’s newfound freedom.

For his part, Arthur felt immense relief and joy about the turn of events in his friend’s lives. For most of them, this had seemed to part the clouds and release them all from the shadow of fear and despair under which they had all been living. And yet, there was Alfred, acting as if it didn’t even matter to him. Something about it caused Arthur’s chest to tighten in anger.

“Get up,” Arthur snapped, going over to snatch the game controller out of Alfred’s hands, “I don’t care if you don’t want to, you’re coming to be there for Lovino.”

Arthur had expected Alfred to yell back, to snap and to tell Arthur that he had no authority to tell him what to do. But Alfred merely sighed, moving to shut his game down as if he hadn’t ever argued about it at all.

“Fine,” Alfred said, standing and not looking at Arthur, “Let’s go.”

~

They met up at the bar, worried that their usual hangout at the café wouldn’t be able to handle their sheer numbers (and because they may or may not have been told that they were no longer welcome there). Everyone had turned up to see Lovino and to celebrate his release, and Alfred and Arthur were the last to arrive- when they came through the door, they were greeted by Lovino, Feliciano, Antonio, Kiku, Michelle, and Laura, and everyone rose in a mind uproar of greeting once they saw Alfred and Arthur.

“About fucking time,” Lovino said, with a little smile. He was seated at the bar, in the center of all of their friends. He didn’t look bad, just a little tired, with slight shadows underneath his eyes and an uncharacteristically subdued air about him. Seeing him, Arthur wondered if they shouldn’t have given Lovino a little more time to rest, but when Arthur and Alfred got a little closer, he hopped out of his stool to give each of them a brisk hug.

“Good to see you back,” Arthur said, breaking away from the hug. Arthur had never really been one for hugs.

“Yeah. Well, it’s good to be back,” Lovino returned to his seat, gesturing for Arthur and Alfred to sit down as well. They did, maneuvering their stools as much as possible so that they weren’t too separated from the group.

“Lovino was just in the middle of telling us his horrifying jail stories,” Laura said jokingly. Lovino snorted, a hand cupping the top of his drink.

“Yeah, right.” he said, “Horrifying.”

“Little Lovi’s a real tough criminal now,” Antonio said, laughing. But his eyes lingered on Lovino’s face, studying him. He must have come to the conclusion that Lovino didn’t want to talk about his experiences, because he said, “Why don’t we fill Lovi in on everything he missed while he was gone?”

They did just that, with the conversation falling mostly to Feliciano’s recent career success, Laura’s new girlfriend, Kiku’s travels. For a while, Antonio and Arthur discussed a new song they were working on, which had Arthur talking excitedly, leaning over in his seat to be better seen and heard. Overall, the conversation was light and easy, and everyone felt relaxed and optimistic.

After a while of just talking and drinking, Michelle pulled out her phone, making an irritated face as she looked at it.

“What is it, Michelle?” Feliciano asked curiously.

Michelle huffed. “Nothing. Some of my friends from school are having an early Halloween party tonight and they’re still bugging me to come. I told them a thousand times that I couldn’t….”

Lovino laughed suddenly. He was a little tipsy, and the full reality of his biggest burdens being lifted had seemed to finally hit him, leaving him almost giddy. “You know what? Crashing a college costume party sounds great right about now.”

Michelle raised her eyebrows, smirking. “Seriously?”

Lovino shrugged. “Why the fuck not? Could be fun.”

“Alright,” Michelle laughed, “It’s your day. Anyone else wanna come?” 

“Um…I don’t think so,” Laura said, “I’m a little tired already.”

Arthur shook his head. “No offence, but I wouldn’t be caught dead there,” he said, words a little bit slurred. 

“None taken,” Michelle said matter-of-factly. “There’s probably going to be beer pong.”

Arthur let out a derisive snort. 

“I’ll go,” Alfred surprised everyone by chiming in. For most of the night, he had been unusually quiet, keeping mostly to himself, and simply listening politely to conversations that he would have normally hijacked and attempted to make himself the center of. For the most part, no one had particularly noticed this change, mostly because Alfred had been quieting down for a while now. They all either contributed this to exhaustion from work, that he was still recovering from Matthew leaving, or that maybe Alfred was just starting to grow up.

However, Alfred broke his quiet streak in that moment, causing everyone to look at him with mild surprise.

“What?” Alfred said, shrugging, “I love wearing costumes. I can be superman, and Michelle can be superwoman!” He punctuated this declaration with a brilliant, false, superman smile that had Michelle caving into him in seconds, shaking her head fondly.

“Hey, then what’ll I be?” Lovino said, crossing his arms in displeasure.

Antonio laughed. “Do you really want to wear a costume, Lovi?”

Lovino paused, seeming to think about it for a moment before snorting loudly. “Fuck no. I’m too cool for that shit,” he decided, leaning back in his seat with his hands behind his head, “I mean, I just got outta jail!”

~

“You two look ridiculous. I’m ashamed to be going anywhere with you.”

“Suit yourself,” Michelle said to Lovino, fidgeting with the makeshift cape that Alfred had made for her on the fly from an old red tshirt. Besides that, she wore a tshirt and jeans, a pair of knee-high boots that she already owned, and had a large fabric ‘S’ attached precariously to her chest with duck-tape. The costume did look like it had been fashioned in under twenty minutes, which it had been, but Alfred thought that Michelle still looked quite nice.

“Hey, leave the lady alone,” Alfred said, lowering his voice heroically and puffing out his chest, while Michelle and Lovino laughed at him. Alfred’s own Superman was already made, and had made   
appearances at several other Halloweens, so it looked a little more worse for wear than even Michelle’s. 

Meanwhile, Lovino was looking stylish in his usual tight-fitting black shirt and jeans, and he seemed to be very proud of that fact. As Alfred and Michelle giggled and fussed over the creation of her costume, Lovi leaned against the doorframe of Alfred and Arthur’s bedframe, smiling and occasionally making fun of them, albeit in a fond sort of way. 

From the main room of the apartment, the sounds of Arthur and Antonio talking and laughing drifted in to them. The muted sounds of their slightly drunken and playful conversation, along with the continued sense of movement and action that blew in through the slightly cracked windows, made Alfred feel excited, giving the sense that the night had only just begun.

“Dun da dah, da da da da daaah!” Alfred sang, in a terribly off-key and slightly painful version of the Superman theme song, as he jumped out of the bedroom and posed heroically. Michelle followed, striking her own dramatic pose to show off her costume.

Alfred’s abrupt entrance made Arthur yelp in surprise, but as drunk and as happy as he was, this only made Arthur laugh loudly, toppling over onto his side.

Michelle looked down at him and shook her head. “Lovino, take a picture of us,” she said, pulling out her cell phone and handing it to Lovino, who sighed as if a great burden had just been placed upon him. But he did it anyway, the phone clicking as Alfred and Michelle held their overdramatic poses.

“They’re amazing,” Michelle said, her fingers dancing away across her phone screen once they were done with their impromptu photo shoot. 

“Who’re ya sending them to?” Alfred asked, nosily attempting to steal a peek at her phone. Michelle’s demeanor suddenly shifted, and she yanked herself away from Alfred in a panic. 

“Uh, no one,” she said. Alfred raised his eyebrows in suspicion, but found that his curiosity couldn’t overrun his excitement at being able to dress up and go to a real college party.

“Well, what are we waitin’ for?” Alfred said. He bounced a little, weight shifting between the balls of his feet and the heels, feeling more excited than he had in what felt like a lifetime. 

Michelle and Lovino agreed that it was getting late, and that they should probably get going. As they left, Arthur called after them, “Goodbye loves! Have a good time! Be safe!” as if he were the mother of a hoard of departing high-schoolers. Antonio shook his head, reaching over to affectionately ruffle his still giggling friend’s hair.

“He’s so drunk, oh my god,” Alfred said, snickering as they descended the staircase together, their thumping footsteps echoing in the stairwell. When the trio made it out onto the street, Lovino sidled himself in between Alfred and Michelle, throwing an arm over each of them.

“Hopefully we will soon be enjoying ourselves as much as he is,” he said, with a sly smile. 

“I’m sure we will,” Michelle said, struggling to adjust herself into a more comfortable position under Lovino’s arm. They stumbled on one another, attempting to not run into anyone on the sidewalk despite the fact that they were taking up most of it. 

“Woohoo!” Alfred bellowed, in a sudden fit of inspiration, “College party!”

“Shut up, big mouth,” Lovio laughed, as the sounds of Alfred’s excitement echoed down the street.

The party was in an apartment a little far from Alfred and Arthur’s so the three of them rode the subway, both Michelle and Alfred taking pleasure in wearing their silly costumes on public transportation while Lovino overdramatically pretended not to be with them. At some point, a tired-looking little girl sitting next to her mother even asked the two of them if they were real super heroes, which left Alfred in an incredibly pleased mood for the rest of the clambering ride through the dark tunnels.

When they arrived at the party, Alfred was nearly overwhelmed by the sudden chaos- by the darkness being broken in quick, striking intervals by a small strobe light, by the heavy and continuous base of the music, so loud that he could feel it in his chest, by the closeness of all of the other bodies, an enormous amount of people packed into a single sweaty mass within the apartment. It had been a long, long time since Alfred had been to this kind of party, and the atmosphere seemed to ignite something in his chest, a desire that he couldn’t quite place, but that nonetheless was burning him from the inside out.

After a few moments of the three of them struggling through the thick crowd Michelle came across a tall boy, who greeted her enthusiastically when he caught sight of her. 

“Hey, Michelle!” he said, face breaking out into a large smile, and voice struggling to overcome the loud music,“I didn’t think you were coming.”

Michelle shrugged. “I changed my mind. By the way, this is Alfred and Lovino. I hope you don’t mind that I brought them along.”

“Nah, it’s no problem,” he said quickly, still smiling that unnaturally large smile at Michelle. “You guys have fun, alright? And, uh, maybe you could save a dance for me later?”

Michelle’s face withered a bit. “Uh, yeah, maybe,” she said, not sounding too enthusiastic about the idea. Despite her tone, the boy looked as if Michelle had just given him a thousand dollars straight out of her pocket. 

“Jeez,” Lovino said as they left the boy, all in search of finding a drink, “He lays it on pretty damn thick, doesn’t he?”

Michelle rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. You two really owe me for making me come here…besides, he’s not the only boy I know who’s known for ‘laying it on a little thick’, Lovino.”

Lovino scoffed, offended. “What? I’m a gentleman,” he said, “I know how to make a lady happy.” 

“God, gross,” Michelle said, although neither of them could deny that this was one area where Lovino had been consistently successful, and that he had never been known to treat woman with anything less than complete respect and kindness. The party was no exception to this general rule, and as the party wore on, Lovino spent quite a lot of time talking in quiet corners with the young woman of his choice.

For his part, Alfred mostly stuck with Michelle, who gratefully didn’t seem to mind. It seemed to him that she preferred him and Lovino over her friends from school, gratefully spending time with them when they crossed paths, and seeming to be more herself and comfortable around them. Alfred felt comfortable too, feeling a sense of release that could possibly be attributed to the fact that he was finally surrounded by people of his own age group, his own stage in life. There was still a sense of separation between them, with Alfred always slightly aware that his life was very different than the lives of the people surrounding him, but in this environment he could play the part of the normal college student, pretending that those barriers didn’t exist. It felt wonderful to Alfred, almost as if he had actually stepped into the easily life that he was pretending to have, and borrowing it for only a night.

Alfred danced with Michelle, if only to save her from having to deal with any unwanted offers. They had a good time, with Michelle laughing as Alfred’s dancing became more and more absurd.

“You’re so embarrassing!” she shouted over the music when Alfred performed a particularly ridiculous move, his childish flailing in such contrast with the slight swaying and grinding of the people around him. This only prompted Alfred to grab hold of one of her hands, dragging her into his random flailing.

“What the fuck are you weirdos doing?” Lovino piped in, striding over to them with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and horror. 

“Do it, Lovino, you know you want to!” Michelle said, bobbing her head and making faces in a mimic of Alfred’s patented dance moves.

Lovino watched them levelly for several moments, arms crossed. Then he sighed. “You know what? Fuck it,” he said, and began doing his own version of the Alfred Dance, causing Alfred and Michelle to erupt into cheers and laughter. At the sound of Alfred’s particularly loud whooping, quite a few people had begun to watch their antics, but none of the little group paid their onlookers any mind.

After a few more minutes, Alfred ceased his dancing. “I need to pee,” he shouted bluntly, before wandering off into down the hallway that led to the bathroom. 

Alfred felt a strange rush of reality in the sudden relative peace of the apartment’s bathroom. Through the solid wooden door, the blaring music was muffled and distant, leaving Alfred’s ears ringing and empty, and the bright white light above him made him squint in discomfort. Without the disorienting presence of flashing lights and noise and moving bodies distorting reality regardless of alcohol, Alfred became aware that he was possibly slightly more tipsy than he had previously thought. The thought only made him giggle to himself. For the first time in over a month, Alfred’s mind was empty of anything troubling, and he was having at least some kind of fun.

As Alfred stepped out of the bathroom, though, he found a heavy presence setting back into his chest, the little mysterious monster coiling back up where it had recently been getting comfortable more and more often. Weighed down by this sudden and unwanted company, Alfred’s feet slowed in their journey down the hallway, struggling between the desire to return to his friends as soon as possible, and the feeling of wanting to isolate himself, the loss of all motivation to throw himself back into the mob of drunk, happy, dancing young adults. For several moments Alfred continued to stand there, feeling almost as if he had split in two, with each half having followed a different instinct, and now he was watching himself play out two alternate scenarios. He was dancing with his friends, and he was sitting in a private corner- but really he was just standing still, being lightly shoved by people too intoxicated to think it strange that he was standing motionless in the middle of the hallway. 

Then, Alfred’s attention was caught by the minimal light shining from a door at the end of the hallway, hanging half-open in a way that suggested whoever was inside didn’t care about being walked in on, but also wanted to have relative privacy. As Alfred found himself walking slowly towards the room, catching a glimpse of the circle of hunched people inside, Alfred was hit by a powerful memory- of highschool parties, dark, empty houses, of hushed, nervous excitement, and of slightly older kids pretending to know what they were doing. Of reaching into pockets, hushed voices, the click and flicker of lighters….Alfred felt as if he was leaving himself, limbs moving and coordinating into steps without his controlling them.

As Alfred stepped into the room, his mind was blank.

~

“Lovino!” Michelle yelled over the din, still loud despite the gradual thinning of the crowd as the night wore on. She rolled her eyes when he didn’t respond to her, continuing to focus on the woman whom he was currently kissing on an old couch. She smacked him on the back of his head, finding that her patience was wearing thin at the end of the long night.

“What?” he snapped, whipping his head around to look at her.

“Have you seen Alfred?” Michelle asked, “I don’t see him anywhere. I wanna go home.”

Lovino shrugged, pulling himself upright and helping the girl next to him sit up as well. “I haven’t seen him either.” He turned to the girl, giving her a charming smile, “Sorry, looks like I have to go. Could I maybe ask for your number…?”

The girl shrugged. “I’d rather not,” she said, before getting up and going to join the crowd of dancers.

“Well fuck,” Lovino said, looking dumbstruck as Michelle laughed at his expense. Then, in the middle of staring wide-eyed into the crowd after his lost love, Lovino’s eyes widened slightly. “Well, there’s Alfred, at least,” he said.

Sure enough, Alfred was moving through the crowd, heading towards them. 

“Where have you been?” Michelle asked, “I was looking all over for you.”

Alfred blinked several times, staring at Michelle as if trying to think of what to say. When he talked, his words were accompanied by an onslaught of restless fidgeting, his arms twitching and wiggling in a way that was just outside of normal. “Uh, you know,” he said, flashing them both an enormous, face-stretching smile, “Just meeting some people. Haha.”

Lovino raised his eyebrows, taking in Alfred’s apparent giddiness with suspicion. “Did you get laid?” he asked. 

Alfred laughed loudly, seeming genuinely entertained by the idea. “What? No!” When Alfred was done laughing, which seemed to take an uncomfortably long amount of time, he continued his unnecessary movements, hands twitching and weight shifting between his two feet.

“…Alright,” Lovino said, raising an eyebrow at how hyper Alfred was still managing to be. For his part, Lovino was rapidly coming down from his celebratory high, and was coming to the realization that what he wanted more than any sex or parties or booze in that moment was to be home with his family and a soft place to sleep. 

“Let’s just get out of here,” Michelle sighed, looking pretty drained as well, “I’m ready for bed….”

“Aaaw, really?” Alfred wined. His words were so surprisingly loud and forceful that Michelle and Lovino both flinched a little, their drunkenness already receding into mild headaches. Lovino figured that   
Alfred’s ears must have been affected by the loud music, which was at this point had turned slow and soft, merely background to the lazy shuffling of people as they laid about or got ready to leave, dazedly searching for their belongings. 

Alfred, however, didn’t seem to have gotten the memo that the party was over. After a moment of looking mildly disappointed, almost hazy, Alfred perked up again, his subtle bouncing returning with a vengeance.

“We should do something else after this!” he said, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush, “Oh, oh! D’you think there’s any, uh, bowling alleys open right now? Or, wait, no! Arcades. Or, no, laser tag! Oh, man, we should totally play laser tag. Pew, pew, pew! You’re dead. Haha.”

Michelle and Lovino both stared at him. “Alfred,” Michelle said, “It’s three in the morning.”

“So what?” Alfred said, the exclamation sounding almost harsh, like there was anger behind Alfred’s expression of cheerful excitement. For a moment, his smile looked like bright, polished glass about to break into a thousand deadly shards. But before it became entirely too noticeable, Alfred laughed again. “This is uh, the city that never goes to bed, right? The city where you can always do stuff like play laser tag, and stuff. That’s what they say, isn’t it?

“Well, that isn’t exactly what they say,” Lovino said, smirking. Michelle laughed. 

“Come on, weirdo,” Lovino continued fondly, “You’re obviously still drunk as shit. We’ll walk you home.”

“Aw, Lovi, how gentlemanly of you,” Michelle drawled, causing Lovino to shake his head at her. 

“Yeah, you’re not much better,” he said teasingly, “You’re both lucky that one of us here knows how to hold his booze.”

Michelle smacked Lovino on the arm, laughing. Alfred just stared at the two of them, as if still confused about why he couldn’t play laser tag. After a bit of coaxing, though, they managed to get them all out onto the street.

The trip back to Alfred and Arthur’s apartment didn’t take long, about fifteen minutes total of walking and riding. It was quite enough time, however, for Alfred’s continuous prattling to begin to grate on his friends’ nerves. Both Michelle and Lovino were very relieved by the time that Alfred’s building entered their line of sight, glad that Alfred would be Arthur’s annoyance for now.

In fact, it seemed that this tradeoff would be taking place even sooner than expected, as the vague and shadowed shape of Alfred’s roommate walked towards them from the other direction, noticeable on the nearly deserted sidewalk. 

“Arthur?” Michelle called to the figure, and it came closer towards them, the details of Arthur’s features becoming more and more visible, like zooming in on a fractal image. Within moments, he went from vague shadow to living human being. 

“Arthur!” Alfred said, immediately throwing himself at his friend with an aggressive hug. Arthur tipped backwards slightly, Alfred’s greater mass enough to throw him slightly off equilibrium. Grunting,   
Arthur shoved Alfred off of himself, attempting to rebalance the scales.

“What are you doing out?” Lovino asked, as Arthur adjusted his clothing, more to show his annoyance with Alfred’s hug than out of care for his appearance. Despite this, there was an October chill in the air, and Arthur found the cold more pronounced on the places where Alfred’s body heat had just left him.

“I just walked Antonio home,” he said. His voice was thick with grogginess, and his hair stuck up more haphazardly than usual. Taking notice of this, Lovino chuckled. 

“You two old geezers fell asleep, didn’t you?” Lovino teased. 

Arthur huffed. “I’m hardly even older than you are,” he pointed out.

“It’s what’s inside that counts.”

“Haha!” Alfred laughed, his volume once again startling his sleepy companions, “Yeah, on the inside you’re like, eighty-two, Arthur. Like, a really fucking old man. Like, a grandpa.”

“Christ,” Arthur mumbled, face still scrunched in displeasure at Alfred’s loud outburst, “Well if I’m an old man, you still have the soul of an eight-year-old.”

For a moment, Alfred’s face fell, melting into a bizarre expression that seemed to toe the line between anger and blank, hazy confusion. During this static moment of time, Alfred only stared over Arthur’s shoulder, unblinking in the muted streetlights.

Before the moment could extend long enough to be noticeable to anyone other than Arthur, Alfred snapped out of his strange trance, and began bouncing again, brimming with energy.

“That’s right!” Alfred said happily, doing a few especially flamboyant bounces to emphasize his point. Arthur realized that the other two were laughing, enjoying Alfred’s display and their banter. He tried to shake himself out of the daze which he had fallen into, attempting to ward away the sick feeling in his stomach with a distracted chuckle.

“Hey, hey,” Alfred was saying, between gasps and wheezing, breathy laughter, “Look at this!”

“Alfred, what are you-?”

“Alfred, stop!” 

Arthur was still too deep in thought to realize what was happening before Alfred charged at the brick wall of the apartment building at full speed. Once he reached the wall, he lifted the lower half of his body into the air. For an instant, the bottoms of Alfred’s feet hit the hard surface of the wall, and he moved them quickly, as if to run up the side of it. With the unpleasant sound of the bottom of Alfred’s sneakers scraping against the rough brick, he fell back onto the hard sidewalk, hitting it hard with his upper body.

“Al…Alfred?” Arthur stammered, coming back to his senses at the sound of Alfred’s pained groaning. By the time he reached his friend, Michelle was already kneeling next to Alfred, asking him panicked questions, and Lovino was standing beside her, eyes wide.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked in amazement, “Are you trying to fucking kill yourself?”

“Uh…” Alfred said, dazed and still lying flat on his back, “I was being Superman…wait, shit, that would be Spiderman, anyway…huh….ow.”

“Are you okay?” Michelle said quietly, moving her arms behind Alfred to support him, and helping him into a sitting position. Not far away, a siren whistled, and a man passing by on the opposite side of the street paused to pay them a short, passing glance. Other than that, the night was still.

“You’re bleeding,” Arthur said numbly, noticing the small trail of blood running down Alfred’s neck.

“I’m fine!”

“You’re acting strange.”

Alfred froze, eye’s flickering from Arthur to his own hands in his lap. “I’m fine,” he said again.

Arthur swallowed, bending down to kneel at Alfred’s side, bringing himself down to eye-level with his friend. For a moment, Arthur stared intently at Alfred’s face. But Alfred turned away.

“Look at me.” Arthur’s voice was low, dangerous and commanding. Still beside them, Michelle and Lovino made brief eye contact, confused and disquieted by Arthur’s tone. When one of his hands suddenly shot out to grab Alfred by the chin, forcing the boy to meet his eyes, Michelle’s eyes widened in shock.

“Stop it! Arthur, what are you doing, he’s hurt-”

“What did you do?” Arthur sneered, voice rough like gravel, low and and struggling to escape past a throat which had constricted with rage. 

Alfred stared at Arthur. His eyes were wide, big and blue and bright, and his chest heaving. Arthur’s heart did somersaults at his expression, apologetic and afraid and defiant all at once. Even as they sat together, in silence, Alfred’s body hummed and twitched with sizzling energy, his body boiling somewhere just beneath the skin. In the soft glow of streetlamps, he looked like a nuclear furnace, like the churning, spitting energy of the sun in human form.

After a second of staring between the two, with eyes narrowed in confusion, Lovino’s face fell in sudden understanding. 

“Shit,” he breathed, drawing out the ‘shh’ for emphasis.

“What is it?” Michelle said, confused, but beginning to put the pieces together as well. “Alfred, what did you do? Did you take something? P-please tell me you didn’t, that you didn’t do ‘that’, please, oh   
Arthur, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“It isn’t your fault.” Arthur’s penetrating gaze never left Alfred’s face. 

“Fucking shit!” Lovino mumbled, still in shock. Then, picking up steam, he lashed out, aiming a pointless kick at the wall. “Who the fuck brings crack cocaine to a goddamn frat party?”

Lovino’s shout seemed to echo down the street. Still kneeling beside Alfred, Michelle looked down at him in horror, her wide, dark eyes beginning to shine with tears. “Oh, Alfred….”

Alfred scowled, already beginning a rapid descent into irritation and exhaustion. “Stop it,” he mumbled, “It isn’t that big a deal….”

Arthur made a cruel, derisive sound. “It isn’t a ‘big deal’?” he said dangerously.

Michelle and Lovino looked between their two friends nervously, sensing the oncoming storm.

“It isn’t!” Alfred insisted, wincing as he started to get to his feet, blood still drying on the exposed skin of his neck. “It’s just one time, I don’t see what your problem is-”

“My problem? MY problem?” Arthur stood up as well, lip curling.

Alfred didn’t flinch even in the face of Arthur’s frightening rage, some reckless overconfidence still swirling around in his blood stream. He met Arthur’s eyes coldly. “Yeah,” he said, “You’re always criticizing me. Well, have you considered that I don’t want or need your help anymore?”

“Alfred-” 

“You’re not my fucking dad!” Alfred yelled, sudden anger pulsing towards Arthur like a shockwave. “You’re just a fucked up loser kid, like me. You’re never gonna have a real job, or a family-”

Arthur couldn’t think of anything to say to that, a sudden fit of rage clouding his thoughts. Instead of speaking, he pushed his entire body forward, the palms of his hands colliding with Alfred’s shoulders in a rough shove. Around him, Michelle and Lovino’s voices rose up in protest, but Arthur barely heard them.

Alfred stumbled backwards, shocked, but still on his feet. For a moment, he stared at Arthur with wide, almost frightened eyes. 

Then he broke into a run down the street, fast enough that he was nearing the corner by the time any of them had come to their senses. 

~

Arthur wandered, agitated, around the apartment. He didn't bother trying to do something to keep himself busy while he waited for Alfred to get home- he knew that all efforts to this end would be fruitless, knew that even if he picked up a book or put in a CD, his mind would still be intently focused on his worry, not concentrating on his task even enough to wander away from it. In Arthur's world, the only thing currently in existence was Alfred.

Or, more specifically, the distinct and horribly obvious lack of Alfred.

It was early morning. The apartment was cold, and Arthur's tea was stale, and the outside world wasn't as yet anywhere near busy enough for its sounds to overwhelm the gaping silence that filled the apartment. Arthur's eyes felt dry, the muscles behind them strained with the effort of working through the night. Of continuing to function while Arthur himself stayed awake, running the events of the night over and over in his mind, berating himself for his idiocy, for his damned, childish temper....

At the beginning, he had also imagined, very thoroughly, the words that he would say to Alfred once the teenager had returned home. But as the hours wore on, and Arthur's heart had begun to feel heavy and aching in his chest, his stomach writhing in growing fear, these words had eventually gotten lost. Now, Arthur thought that if only Alfred would step through their door, would only let Arthur hear his voice, and see his bright, honest smile...then he would forgive him immediately. If only he could be rid of this festering, aching terror that had settled deep within the pit of his stomach.

Arthur glanced out the street-facing window for the hundredth time since he'd gotten back, before feeling that all at once his body had become too heavy for his legs to support, and collapsing ungracefully to the floor, where the arrangement of blankets and pillows kindly welcomed him. Once seated, Arthur couldn't help but notice all of the things significant of Alfred that surrounded him: dirty t-shirts, empty bottles of coke, comic books with dog ears in the pages. Seeing them made Arthur feel like he was being strangled, and it was suddenly difficult to take in enough air.

For a moment, Arthur thought that the crackling sound of the intercom was coming from his own lungs. When he realized what it was, however, he bolted immediately to his feet.

"Um...Arthur?" Came the voice from the other end. It sounded thick and exhausted, but, upon hearing it, Arthur's entire body felt weak with relief. 

He began to walk slowly over to the intercom. "Can you let me in?" Alfred continued, his tone of voice uncharacteristically uncertain, "I think I lost my key. Sorry."

Arthur found that he couldn't make his lips form the words to respond, and pressed the button that would allow Alfred inside numbly, without a word. Minutes later, Arthur heard a tentative knock on the door. He opened it. And there was Alfred.

He looked as tired as Arthur felt, maybe more so, with unhealthy pale skin and drooping, red-rimmed eyes. His hoodie was still thrown over his makeshift Superman costume, but the red cape was poking out awkwardly, bunching up near his neck. As he stood in the doorway, he looked at Arthur sheepishly, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Uh...hi." he said, and Arthur almost visibly winced at how his words grated against each other, like his throat was made of sandpaper.

For a second, Arthur simply stared at his roommate. Then, he turned and walked back into the apartment without a word, leaving the door open for Alfred, who trailed in cautiously behind him. Briskly, Arthur walked to the kitchen counter, picked up his mug of cold tea, and dumped it into the sink, beginning to prepare another immediately after. He apparently didn't notice when Alfred walked slowly   
towards him.

"So," he said, biting a chapped bottom lip, "I, uh-"

"Are you hungry?" Arthur asked abruptly, dumping sugar into his tea, still turned away from Alfred.

"Oh! I, um...I don't know. I guess. I mean, uh, I probably should be." Arthur merely nodded in response, quickly turning to open the fridge and taking out a carton of eggs.

"You should give Michelle a call," Arthur said as he searched for a pan, "She was very upset last night." He gave Alfred the slightest glance over his shoulder, still not making eye contact, "Everyone came out to look for you. Antonio, Feliciano, Kiku..."

"I'm sorry," Alfred croaked, sounding defeated. Arthur merely shrugged, and the tense silence returned. He turned a dial on the stove, and the small flame of the stovetop came to life with a noise like a puff of air.

Arthur's hands trembled as he began to crack open the eggs, and on the first try the shell shattered into miniscule pieces, many of which fell into the pan along with the inside of the egg.

"Um, maybe I should do that," Alfred said, darting over to Arthur's side to help him.

"No, thank you," Arthur said through his teeth, reaching for another egg. Alfred reached out a hand to stop him.

"Come on, man," Alfred said, a side of his mouth quirking up in tired amusement, "We both know you burn eggs."

There was a clatter as Arthur jerked his arm out of Alfred's grip as if it had hurt him, causing the pan to clatter to the ground. Alfred's eyes widened in shock at the violent movement.

"Don't you dare start with me," Arthur spat, "Don't you dare, after what you've put me through-" He cut himself off, closing his eyelids tight, as if he was in physical pain, and steadied himself on the counter.

Alfred stared at his friend, horrified. "I'm sorry," he said again, weakly. Arthur answered with a bitter laugh.

"...Are you going to kick me out?" Alfred almost whispered, after a long pause.

It seemed to take a second for the younger man's words to register in Arthur's mind. When they did, he opened his eyes, and looked up at Alfred in confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked harshly.

Alfred's eyes were beginning to look suspiciously moist. His voice trembled when he spoke, "When...when you first took me in, you said that...if I ever, you know, used again, you'd...." When his eyes met   
Arthur's, he could see the fear in them.

Arthur sighed. "Not today, Alfred." Alfred continued to look at him with scared, puppy-dog eyes, and Arthur ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Christ, don't you get it? This- this has been the worst night of my life, Alfred. Damnit," he slammed a fist down on the counter, causing Alfred to flinch slightly, "How could you do this to me? And how could you ever think that I would kick you out?" 

When Arthur's eyes found Alfred's face again, he was surprised to see several fat, quiet tears rolling down his face. "I'm sorry," he gasped, for the third time, "I'm so sorry, please...."

"Christ," Arthur said, voice drained, "Don't...don't apologize to me. You're the one who worked so hard, who's come so far, and now..." Alfred continued to cry in front of Arthur, who thought for a moment, swallowing thickly when he came to the conclusion he knew he should have arrived at years before this.

He made sure that Alfred was looking him in the eyes before he spoke. "Alfred," he said, clearly, but slightly choked, "You're sick. You need help."  
Alfred stared at Arthur, horrified, before shaking his head rapidly back and forth. "No," he said, "I'm fine. It was just one time, I swear. It won't happen again. I’m sorry for what I said to you, I didn’t mean it-"

"Alfred-"

"I swear, Arthur! I can handle this. I'm strong!"

"I know that, Alfred," Arthur's eyes were sad.

"It was just this once, okay? Please, just let it go. I'll stay clean from now on, I promise." For an endless moment, Alfred stared at Arthur with red, pleading eyes. Arthur found he couldn't meet them.

"You should probably make the eggs," he finally mumbled.

~

 

“Natalia?” Katyusha called, catching her younger sister with her hand on the doorknob of their apartment. Trying not to show concern in her eyes, she asked the question that she no longer expected any answer to. “Where are you going?”

Natalia froze, not moving her hands from the glistening brass, and not looking up at her sister. Her long hair was as blond as her sister’s, almost silver, like the hair of an old woman or a person who was begotten from moonlight. Today, it hung free, draping long and heavy down Natalia’s shoulders and back and creating a curtain which she could peer through with one icy blue eye. Her clothes were casual and slightly worn, a purple hoodie over tight jeans and sturdy white sneakers, and a small backpack hanging from one shoulder.

So prepared was Katyusha for Natalia to ignore her, to simply open the door and leave without a word, that she almost jumped in shock when the words came from Natalia’s pale mouth.

“I’m going to see Alfred,” she said, in her serious, matter-of-fact way.

Katyusha’s eyes had blinked several times before she managed to find her words, pushed back to her senses by Natalia opening the door and moving to leave.

“Wait!” Katyusha said, stopping her sister, “You can’t, Natalia, he said-“ Katyusha stopped herself.

Natalia, turned to face her sister fully, hair falling away from her face like rushing water. A single corner of her mouth twitched upwards, and an almost playful gleam came into her eyes. 

“He said he doesn’t want to see me,” she said simply.

Katyusha didn’t know what to say. Knowing that she couldn’t stop Natalia, she kept her mouth shut as her sister took her first step out into the hallway. 

“But I want to see him,” she said, smirking as she shut the door behind her.

It was high time for a little reunion.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope this chapter isn't too short and uneventful; it's really just meant to show time passing leading up to the conclusion. But even if it's a disappointment there's only a couple of chapters left and I'm very excited to finish so the updates should come fast from now on! I can't believe that this is as long as it is, that I've gotten this far, so thank you so much for all of your amazing support! I never could have done it otherwise.

Alfred stared out into the dreary October rain. It was coming down hard, so heavy and consistent that it looked like nature had put up wet, moving curtains on the windows- the rest of the world was kept from view, with the exception of a confusing mosaic of smudged shapes and light that bled into one another like wet paint dripping down a canvas. What did people call rain like that again? Sheets. It was coming down in sheets.

The apartment had turned chilly in the last few weeks, the cold just starting to seep into their bones again after months of scorching days and sticky nights, and Alfred and Arthur had begun to make the shift from throwing off the covers every night in frustration to curling up under them, and waking up with cold feet and want of a hot shower. As he sat, staring out the window with glazed eyes, Alfred wiggled his toes against each other in an attempt to warm them.

He felt hollow. 

In the days that had passed since the party, Alfred had felt a strange emptiness take over, a boredom and a longing that seemed to point him nowhere. It was a directionless hunger that did nothing but make it impossible for him to find any meaning in his life until it was satiated. It was draining, and Alfred was finding it harder every day to wake up and behave as if nothing had changed. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the gentle sound of the bedroom door opening, revealing Arthur standing in the door frame. His hair was a mess from sleeping, his eyes only partially open, and Alfred couldn’t help but snicker at his appearance.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he cracked, and Arthur gave him the finger on his slow and somewhat dazed way to the bathroom. Alfred just continued to stand in the kitchen, fighting inertia and the cold ache in his body. After a few moments, he heard the toilet flush, and Arthur reemerged. His path back to the bedroom was a little shaky, and Alfred wondered if he was sleepwalking.

“Rain,” Arthur declared, standing and staring at the window.

Alfred nodded. “Rain,” he agreed, as if Arthur had made some kind of brilliant philosophical comment. 

For a moment, Arthur continued to watch the window with an unreadable bleary expression, before suddenly turning around and returning to bed. Alfred shook his head to himself, wondering if his roommate would even remember this later.

Alfred threw the hood of his jacket over his head.

He wished he had a raincoat.

~

Alfred stepped outside for his short break around midmorning, taking the minutes he had to get outside air in his lungs and let his thoughts wander in the absence of any pressing orders to take care of.   
Many of his coworkers would take this time to have a cigarette, but that was something that had never appealed to Alfred. So instead, he took little strolls.

The early morning rain had faded, leaving a glowing, misty day in its wake. Around him, people were milling about at varying speeds, but Alfred paid little attention to them, too absorbed with his own winding thoughts. 

Which is why he didn’t notice a familiar face when he walked past them.  
“Hey!” a voice suddenly said, so close to his ear that Alfred jumped, his heart beating in overdrive in his chest. 

“Well,” the voice said, deadpan, “That was embarrassing.”

Once he was over his shock, it was a voice that Alfred immediately recognized. His heart, if anything, began pumping even more frantically.

After a moment of consideration, during which Alfred had some irrational thoughts along the lines of “If you don’t look at her she isn’t real” and “She can’t see you if you don’t move”, Alfred turned his head to the person who was speaking. He was met with dark blue eyes staring up at him with a familiar hard expression, like steel. 

“Natalia?” Alfred said, wide-eyed. The girl was significantly shorter than him and petite, always had been, but something about her presence was still intimidating. Looking at her made Alfred remember that bullets are only the size of pebble, but they could still go through his heart in a second. 

Natalia didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at him with an unreadable expression that made Alfred squirm.

“Jesus,” Alfred said, running a hand through his hair, “You scared the shit out of me, Nat.”

Suddenly, like ice cracking, Natalia’s face broke into a delicate but vicious smirk. “That’s what I wanted to do,” she said, and Alfred knew that she meant more than just sneaking up on him. Suddenly, Alfred felt something inside of him bubble up in a confusing rush of emotions.

He started to laugh.

Alfred laughed and laughed, longer and more genuinely than he had in months. Natalia didn’t join in, but her smirk grew, showing her teeth. They were a little bit crooked, jumbled from being thrown into her too-small mouth and never given the assistance of braces, just like Alfred remembered. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to run away. He wanted to stand on the sidewalk and laugh for the rest of his   
life.

He couldn’t really do any of those things, though, so he just took Natalia’s arm and pulled her to the side of the nearest building, so that they would be out of the way. 

“I like the outfit,” She said condescendingly, eyes roaming Alfred’s McDonald’s uniform.

Alfred rolled his eyes. Had it really been three years since he had seen her? “Thanks.”

But the playfulness couldn’t last, and Natalia’s face became hard once again. “You told my sister that you didn’t want to see me,” she said, her eyes holding something that might have, somewhere very hidden, been something like hurt.

Alfred looked away, not knowing what he could possibly say to her. That he’d missed her so much he couldn’t even think about her most of the time? That he was somehow still angry with her for leaving with Ivan? That her being here scared him? That she made him scared of himself?

Alfred couldn’t tell her any of this, so he just stood there. After a few seconds, Natalia sighed, probably not expecting an answer in the first place. 

“Well, you can’t run away from me that easily, Alfred Jones. Come on…let’s take a walk.”

Alfred cursed in his head, suddenly remembering that he was still technically on the clock. “Oh, uh, sorry, I can’t. I’m just on break, and-”

Natalia just stared at him, eyes cold and level. 

“I mean…maybe just a short walk. Heh.”

~  
“So I guess you’re doing well,” Natalia said as they strolled. He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not, but it didn’t really seem like she was.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“You have a job and everything,” she continued, looking down at her feet in front of her as if afraid they would go places she didn’t want them too if she took her eyes off them. “And Katyusha said you’re living in an apartment with some guy now.”

“Hm, yeah. Arthur.” Alfred internally winced, thinking of how pissed Arthur would be if he knew that Alfred was skipping work. “He’s alright.”

Natalia nodded, but it was hard to tell if the conversation was of any interest to her. Alfred took the moment of silence to study her face- it was a bit different than when he had last seen her, had filled out   
a bit. She still was ghostly pale, but she looked healthier. And more grown up, he supposed. She was an adult now, or at least as close as either of them would ever be.

“So…” Alfred started, breaching the subject with caution, “You left Ivan.”

If Alfred expected any sort of emotional reaction to the mention of her brother, than he was mistaken. Natalia answered quickly but casually, unperturbed by the subject that had separated them in the first place.

“Ivan’s a dick,” she said simply, and Alfred couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. Natalia’s accent wasn’t as strong as her older siblings, as she had only been a little girl when they had move to the states, but hearing her use curse words and slang so casually always got Alfred grinning, not to mention that Alfred felt similarly about Ivan. Still, he raised an eyebrow at her at how easily she denounced the older brother she had once idolized.

Natalia made a sound that was something between a sigh and a growl. “All he ever wanted to do was control me,” she spat, tone turning malicious, “But I do what I want to do. I’m done following him around like I’m his pet.”

Alfred studied her, knowing how much he would have given to hear her say those words years ago. To have had her stay, instead of following Ivan wherever he went. Now it was hard to decide how he felt.   
All he knew was that her return was a change in his life, yet another upset in a year of chaos- and, just like with everything else, he couldn’t tell if it was more exciting or frightening.

“I hear he’s a real big dog now,” Alfred said, pulling up things he’d been hearing about the Braginskys in the past years. 

Natalia bit her lip. “He thinks he is, anyway,” she muttered.

Alfred paused. “Did it scare you?” 

Nat turned her cold blue eyes on him in an instant. “I wasn’t scared,” she said stiffly. Alfred shrugged. 

“You must have had a lot of money, though.”

“I don’t give a shit about his money.”

Alfred backed off, knowing that he was prying in all of the places that could potentially set Natalia off. But he couldn’t help that he was curious about what she had been up to.

“So uh, are you still….”

“Smoking crack?” she said, in a way that made Alfred feel like he was being teased for being so bashful. He wondered how she knew so quickly what he was going to ask her. 

When Alfred nodded, Natalia shrugged. “I don’t really have a lot of my own money…Kat takes care of me, but she knows not to give me spending money of my own and…I don’t know, Alfred. I can’t steal   
from her. Not after everything she’s done for me.”

Alfred had gone silent, and Natalia gave him a sharp look. “But don’t think I’m some kind of good girl now.”

Alfred smiled. “I could never think that.” Then, after a moment, “You know…I have some money. With my job and everything.” 

He wasn’t sure what had made him say it, but the words felt cold and unnatural leaving his mouth, like a demon he hadn’t known was living inside of him had just suddenly escaped through his words.   
Alfred tried not to let Natalia know that he had just scared himself.

Nonetheless, she gave him a piercing look. She had always been good at those. 

“You really haven’t changed at all, Alfred,” she sighed. Despite the rare note of fondness in her voice and the small smile on her lips, the statement felt like a cruel insult to Alfred, and he winced.

“Yeah…guess I haven’t….”

Natalia didn’t look at him to see the grimace on his face. Instead she reached for the tie that was pulling her long white hair back, sliding it down the thin locks and setting them free. Alfred couldn’t help   
but be a little mesmerized as she flipped it over her shoulder.

“Your hair’s gotten really long,” Alfred said casually.

“I’m thinking of cutting it.”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence for several steps. Alfred was beginning to feel uncomfortable, feeling the years and miles and arguments that had separated them as an unwanted presence as the shock of seeing Natalia began to wear off. He fidgeted through the lull in their conversation, turning his head around to look at signs and people and buildings as if he would find something to say to her in the space around him. He thought of Matthew, suddenly, wondering if this was how he usually felt, and the reminder of his brother brought forth a sick mess of feelings that had Alfred shaking his head to clear it.  
He looked to Natalia, knowing that whatever awkwardness he felt would be lost on her. Natalia was never nervous in social situations- she simply existed as she was, and everyone else just had to deal with it, like a river that people had no choice but to build bridges over. Or more like a mountain topped with jagged, icy peaks, that no one ever dared to climb.

Natalia looked straight ahead while she walked, as if she were going into battle with the whole world.

“Well,” Alfred said, before the silence could stretch any further, “I should probably get ba-”

“Do you wanna go sneak into a movie or something?”

Alfred almost laughed at the childish suggestion, but Natalia was clinging onto her usual deadly serious expression. “Um…” he said, “I really should get back to work. I’m probably already in trouble.”

Natalia gave him a look that was at once both condescending and challenging. Alfred thought back to the greasy McDonald’s kitchen, the thick, stifling air, the pressure of rushes and the boredom of lulls.   
He thought about Arthur coming home from the club at two in the morning, exhausted and sweaty and irritated. He thought about Natalia leaving Ivan because he had tried to control her.

Soon, he was reaching behind his back to untie his apron. 

The corner of Natalia’s mouth twitched upwards, and that was enough of a reason for Alfred.

 

-August-

Alfred didn’t really like these kinds of parties. 

Now parties, in general, he liked. He liked them a lot, actually- holiday parties, parties with crowds and dancing and lights, parties with close friends and teasing and laughter. He loved being surrounded by people and being silly, loved drawing attention and helping others have a good time.

But that wasn’t what this kind of party was, if it could even be called one at all. The ones in dingy apartments with yellowing walls and air so thick with other people’s smoke it made his head spin, where no one was dancing, and everyone was too busy with fire and chemicals to interact with each other much, with the exception of the occasional couple dry humping on a couch or something…and that made Alfred pretty uncomfortable.

But in the end, he supposed the atmosphere didn’t really matter anyway. For most of the experience, Alfred would be happy no matter what was going on around him. Really happy. No matter what.

The apartment belonged to someone Natalia knew- well, ‘knew’ was probably not the best term- the Braginskys were one of those families who seemed to know everyone, but mostly only by rumor and vague connections. Either way, Natalia tended to get a lot of interesting invitations, even without her brother as a part of the deal. She usually turned them down, except for when Alfred wanted to go out and socialize.

Or at least, socialize was what Alfred was attempting to do. He was feeling pretty damn excellent, at the moment, thoughts racing through his head a mile a second, and mouth somehow moving even faster. At some point, he had started thinking about space, about stars and planets and how he had always wanted to be an astronaut when he was a kid. And there, sitting on ratty old couch on a cold August night, Alfred felt like he could probably do it.

He was telling all of these things to a nice couple sitting next to him on the couch. The guy’s arm was slung over his girlfriend’s shoulder casually, and they were smiling and laughing as Alfred talked. Alfred liked them. He started to talk about the Hubble spacecraft.

“Oh my fucking god, will someone shut him up already?” a harsh voice said from across the room. Alfred only realized the man was talking about him when he noticed all of the people looking at him. 

“Leave him alone. He isn’t hurting anyone.” Natalia was sitting at his side, perched on the armrest like a bird of prey. Her eyes were as blue and as cold as ever, so much lighter than Alfred’s, like the ocean where it’s clear and transparent. For a moment, Arthur marveled at them, forgetting about what was happening around him.

But now the man who had spoken was laughing, and approaching Natalia in a way that made Alfred’s blood go from bubbling with giddiness to boiling with rage in less than a second. “He’s hurting my head,” the man said darkly, “What are you gonna do about it, pretty little thing-”

Crunch. 

Alfred pulled his hand away, not feeling the pain of the impact of his hand and the man’s face. The man was clutching his nose, but Alfred could still see the thin trail of blood falling from his nostril, all the way down his chin. When the man looked up, it was with an expression of pure rage. 

Even as the man charged at him, Alfred wasn’t afraid. He braced himself for a fight.

But the man never reached him, as he soon found himself with a knife pressed against the side of his neck. Natalia was behind him, smiling her vicious smile. The man’s eyes were wide with terror. The apartment had gone deathly quiet.

“I think we’ll be going now,” Natalia said easily. She withdrew from the man as quickly and as gracefully as a snake, and was at the door before he could even touch her.   
Alfred followed her out into the cold night. It was late enough that it was mostly quiet, and Natalia took his hand, guiding him.

“Tell me more about that spacecraft thing,” she ordered.

Alfred did.

~

“I just don’t know what to do anymore.” Arthur’s voice came out tired and wounded. He took a swig of his beer, as if he could wash down the pain in his voice.

Next to him at the bar, Antonio and Lovino were looking at him with disturbingly sympathetic expressions.

“You need to talk to him, Arthur,” Antonio said, voice as calm and soothing as ever. But his words only made Arthur feel worse.

“I’ve tried!” he insisted. Arthur knew that if he was being honest with himself, his attempts at striking up a conversation with Alfred about his behavior were half-hearted at best, most of the words he wanted to say turning to nothing before they could make it past his lips. But he didn’t particularly feel like being honest with himself tonight. Or with his friends.

“You may have to be a little hard on him,” Antonio persisted, “You don’t have to act like his father, but…as a friend. You cannot let him continue to do this to himself.” 

Arthur stared at his oldest friend’s face, deciding to take a moment to enjoy the fact that it was full and healthy, that Antonio was energetic and talking and well. Antonio had always been excellent at giving advice. Arthur had learned, over the years, to follow it.

“He won’t listen.” Arthur said resolutely, “It doesn’t matter what I do. You don’t understand…it would only push him away.”

Antonio sighed. Arthur drank more.

“He’s almost never home,” Arthur continued. Lovino and Antonio knew this already, but Arthur couldn’t seem to stop listing his grievances. “He was fired from his job for not showing up…and he didn’t even tell me! I had to ask him why we were so short.”

Lovino looked down at his drink. “It’s a shame,” he said. Arthur knew that this rare bit of tenderness from Lovi was something to be cherished, but he hated the phrasing- it was as if Alfred was already lost.

“I just don’t understand,” Arthur whispered, helpless, “After all I’ve done for him…” he shook his head. “I just can’t have this sort of mess in my life anymore. I don’t want to. I’m sick of my job, sick of barely surviving. I’ve been thinking. In a few years I’ll be thirty, and I want to have some kind of life. Not a job at a strip club and a shitty apartment. I just don’t know how much longer I can deal with this.   
God, I’m a terrible person.”

Antonio shook his head, reaching over to place a consoling hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“He came back the other night with blood on his hand, did I tell you that? He wouldn’t say what had happened.” Arthur heaved a deep sigh. “It’s like he’s a different person now. And this girl….”

“Yeah, what’s going on with that?” Lovino wondered.

Arthur shook his head. “She and Alfred knew each other before I found him. I guess her older brother was his dealer, but he sort of became a part of the family. Anyway, she left with her brother when he moved…but she’s back now, for whatever reason. And I don’t really know what sort of relationship they have, but I’m sure it isn’t good for him.” 

Antonio was giving Arthur a measured look. 

“Maybe that’s true,” he said softly, “But if I know anything about Alfred, it’s that he is independent. Whatever he does is his decision….no one is forcing him to do anything.”

The wooden bar table in from of Arthur’s eyes began to blur, and he closed them. When he felt soft tears appear at the corners of his eyes, he turned his head away from his friends. 

“I think I’ll go,” Arthur grunted, “I’m tired.”

~

“How is your hand?” Natalia asked, offhand. They were sitting on a bench on the bridge, watching the occasional passerby interrupt their view of the skyline blazing in the night. Bikers, joggers, crowds of sightseers, lovers holding hands- they all passed the two of them by, as if they were statues, he and Natalia built into the architecture. Alfred felt like he could be made of stone; he was cold from the bitter wind, and numb, too, numb in more ways than one. Numb in the way that spinning around on a ride too fast made you feel. Numb like watching you whole life on a movie screen, but not being able to change anything that you saw. 

Natalia’s hair was blowing and flickering in the wind, cut to the length of her shoulders since they had first reunited. The edges were choppy and sharp- she had cut it with her knife.

At her question, Alfred looked down at his own hand, splattered with small scabs and purple bruises that were turning yellow at the edges. 

“It’s fine,” he felt himself saying. His tongue felt like cotton.

Natalia stared ahead with her icy eyes. “You know I can take care of myself,” she snapped.

“I know,” Alfred said, and he meant it. He thought back to that moment, wondering himself why he had felt the need to step in on her behalf. 

“I was angry,” he finally decided.

He didn’t think he was imagining the little upward quark of her lips. “Well, don’t do it again. It was stupid.”

Alfred nodded.

“Ivan always thought he needed to protect me,” she suddenly added, and Alfred watched her warily. Natalia didn’t tend to talk about her brother much, these days.

“I could never be a part of business or anything like that,” she continued. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, and she was picking at the loose rubber on her sneakers. “Not that I wanted to be. But the second he hears a guy pulled some shit at a party or something, he goes and makes sure he loses a hand.”

Alfred swallowed. 

“He wouldn’t let me go anywhere, do anything,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “As if I can’t handle myself. Ever since we moved, he’s become so fucking paranoid.”

“I’m sorry I punched the guy,” Alfred offered, unsure if all of this was supposed to be scolding him. But Natalia just laughed.

“Don’t be,” she said, “He deserved it.” She turned her head towards Alfred’s, and suddenly her face was so close, barely an inch away from his.

“Besides,” she whispered, and Alfred almost felt himself shudder- with someone else, the quiet tone would have probably sounded tender, but coming from Natalia’s mouth it reminded him of the hiss of a viper about to strike. “You aren’t like him at all. He hides it, but everything Ivan does is because he’s scared. He wants to threaten people, have more money than anyone, control everything and everyone.   
It’s just because he’s afraid. It’s pathetic.” Her eyes stared into Alfred’s, and he felt the need to squirm. 

“But you’re like me,” Natalia continued, “You don’t do things because you’re scared, or because someone else tells you to. You just do what you want to do.”

Alfred felt her breath on his face, and he felt himself closing his eyes without really knowing why he was doing it. Soon, he felt her lips on his, so soft and gentle for someone so hard. 

A second passed, and Alfred’s brain suddenly went from a numb haze and into overdrive. He pulled away from Natalia, probably a little more aggressively than was necessary. He looked away from her so that he didn’t have to see her face. 

As they sat in painful silence together, Alfred feeling the tip of his nose begin to go numb in the cold wind, he thought about how Natalia must have constructed an image of him based on what she wanted him to be.

Because Alfred knew that every decision he had ever made had been out of fear.

 

-December-

“Where are you going?”

“Um…I dunno? Just out?”

Arthur and Alfred looked at each other. Alfred’s eyes shown with confused apprehension at being questioned, considering Arthur usually let him leave the house without a word- Alfred was an adult, after all. Arthur, meanwhile, was watching Alfred with a conflicted expression, as if the words he wanted to say where struggling to come to the surface. 

“Well…do you know when you’ll be back?” Every word of Arthur’s seemed to take immense effort.

Alfred shrugged vaguely.

Arthur looked away. “Kiku called,” he said, “He says he hasn’t seen you in a while. Maybe you should go visit.”

Alfred winced at the thought of his best friend-he had hardly even spoken to him in over a month. “Uh, yeah. Maybe I will.”

“Okay. Good.” Arthur sighed, his eyes darting around the room, and Alfred couldn’t help but think that his roommate was acting strange. “Well, I have to go to work, so. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Alfred mumbled as Arthur headed towards the door, “See ya….”

Once he could see Arthur walking down the sidewalk from the window, Alfred reached into his pockets, fishing out all of the loose bills that he could find there and dumping them on the counter.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, counting the money.

Alfred’s eyes flickered over to his and Arthur’s room, where he knew their wad of emergency bills was rolled up and shoved into one of Arthur’s old socks. He counted his money again, a sick feeling welling up in his stomach; he had already dipped into the emergency fund a few times, but only ever for a dollar or two, and he was sure that Arthur did the same from time to time. But the amount of money he needed now was significantly more than he had ever taken before. It would be noticeable. 

When Alfred reached into the drawer to get the bills he needed as quickly as possible, he heard a random snatch of a conversation with Natalia run through his head, almost as clear as if she had been whispering it into his ear.

“I can’t steal from Kat. Not after everything she’s done for me.”

For a moment, Alfred’s hand hovered over the money, hesitant. 

Then he sighed, took what he needed, and headed for the door.

In the end, it wasn’t like he really had any choice.

~

Natalia was waiting for him in the small, dark lot. She was sitting against the wall looking bored when she saw Alfred, and her face, though most people wouldn’t have been able to see it, brightened.

“You’re late,” she said.

Alfred shrugged. “Only a few minutes.”

Natalia huffed out a breath of air that ruffled the bits of choppy white hair that hung in her face. Her arms were drawn around her torso, the fraying, thin purple hoodie doing very little to protect her from the winter chill. Nat would always say that she could handle the cold- she was Russian, after all- but Alfred could see the slight tremor in her jaw that indicated chattering teeth.

Alfred grinned, a warm feeling spreading through him. “I got you something,” he declared.

Natalia looked up at him with a sharply raised eyebrow, and Alfred revealed the white shopping bag that had been hidden behind his back. She tossed it to her, before sitting down in front of her on the pavement. 

Natalia gave Alfred a long look before she reached into the bag, producing a puffy but stylish winter coat. Frowning, she ran her hands along the waterproof black fabric of the outside, then let them wander to the soft lined interior.

She threw the coat into Alfred’s lap.

“I don’t need this,” she snapped, “Stop spending your money on me.”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “You’re shivering, Nat,” he said, “Please.” He held up the coat in an offer to put it on her. After a moment of petulant scowling, she obliged, sliding into the coat on arm at a time.

“There,” Alfred said, as Natalia settled into the coat, “Better?”

Natalia wouldn’t look at him. “If you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

Alfred chuckled.

After a moment, the sound of footsteps crunching on dirty bits of icy snow made them look up. Two people entered the lot, a man and a women, and Alfred stood.

“Hey,” he said to them, reaching into his pockets.

They both nodded at him. “What’s her problem?” the man said, eyes on Natalia, who was still huddled against the wall looking murderous. 

Alfred bristled. “What’s yours?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Andy,” she said, “Are we hear to make a deal or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Andy muttered, reaching into a deep pocket in his tan leather jacket. He and Alfred brushed hands quickly, and Andy took a brief moment to could the money he had been given.

“Come on,” Alfred said, feeling antsy, “It’s all there. Let’s just get out of here.”

Andy ignored him. Just around the corner, a police siren blared, and Alfred jumped.

Andy laughed. “Relax, man. We’re done.” He pocketed the money. Then, he saw something over Alfred’s shoulder that made his eyes widen. “Shit! We gotta go.” 

The two of them bolted out of the lot, and Alfred’s heart raced. On the street beyond the lot, he could see flashing red and blue lights. He went to get Natalia, only to find that she was already standing next to him.

“Let’s go!” she shouted, but they both knew if they stepped out onto the sidewalk, they would run right into the police. His eyes darted to the chain-link fence in the back of the lot, leading into the dark area behind another building. He tugged on Natalia’s sleeve, hoping she wouldn’t actually kill him for it, and they both ran over to the fence.

“Stop!” a voice said behind them, but Alfred didn’t look back. He lifted Natalia up and over the fence, and then started climbing.

Just when Alfred reached the top, and was about to just over the fence, he looked over his shoulder, and felt a flash of cold panic run through him. He found himself staring into familiar light blue eyes, widened with recognition.

“Alfred!” Natalia called from below him.

Alfred shook himself out of his shock, and jumped.

~

Ludwig sighed as he waited outside of the apartment building, feeling himself begin to perspire under his winter coat. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here, why he was doing this- but for some reason, his feet had carried him to this doorstep. And his mouth had forced him to keep his silence.

There was a sound behind the door, and soon Arthur appeared, regarding Ludwig with barely concealed terror. 

“Come in,” he said distractedly, leading him up the stairs and into his and Alfred’s apartment. When they entered, Arthur asked Ludwig if he wanted anything. Ludwig declined.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Arthur asked warily.

Ludwig sighed, drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter. 

“It’s about Alfred,” he said.

~

Alfred headed home as the sun was coming up, dusting the greys and browns of the city with a hazy red-orange. He had been out all night, but it was starting to feel to Alfred that there was no such thing as “out” anymore, that there were only places to exist- parties to go to and couches to crash on, fast food restaurants to sit in at four in the morning and sidewalks to stroll down with Natalia and talk about everything. Alfred remembered this feeling, from years ago. With a jolt, he recognized it as the feeling of not having a home.

But Alfred shook that thought out of his mind as soon as it appeared. He still had a home; he was going there now, wasn’t he? He would always be able to go to that apartment, to bicker with Arthur and sleep on that futon and play his video games.

He had been gone for a couple of nights, though. Alfred wondered if Arthur would be happy to see him.

Alfred was so engrossed in his thoughts, eyes focused on watching his warm breath appear in the fridges morning air, that he didn’t see the person stopping in front of him until they crashed together,   
Alfred feeling the fabric of someone’s clothing hit his face.

“Oh, sorry man.” 

But the person didn’t respond. Instead he turned to face Alfred, an awful, familiar grin on his face. Alfred froze, feeling his mouth hang slightly open in shock.

“Hello Alfred,” Ivan said, tone as serene and collected as it had ever been.

Alfred snapped his mouth shut, aware that his expression was probably going to make Ivan’s day. But it was difficult to make himself appear composed- if he was being honest with himself, Alfred had   
always been afraid of Natalia’s brother, even when he had relied on him as heavily as she had. Even though Ivan had once called him family. Somehow, just hearing that voice had a way of making Alfred   
feel like he was a lost fifteen-year-old boy again. Small and helpless.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Alfred said, trying to sound as strong as he could, to let Ivan know that he wasn’t a child anymore. But Ivan just laughed, and Alfred knew that he had not been successful.

“Oh, Alfred,” he sang, “Look at you! The little boy is a big man now.” 

Alfred felt his face flush in embarrassment. “Shut up. What do you want?”

Ivan sighed. “I think you already know that, don’t you? I am here to make my poor, confused little sister see sense, and come back with me.”

“She’ll never go with you,” Alfred spat, “She hates you.”

Ivan’s eyes narrowed, his fake sweetness falling away at Alfred’s comment. Ivan took a step closer to him, the Russian man still towering over him despite how much Alfred had grown since they had last   
seen each other. Alfred thought about the saying about not poking a sleeping bear.

“Natalia is my sister,” Ivan said, voice even and dangerous, “You may think that you know what she feels, but you are wrong. You may think that you know what is best for her, but you are wrong. I am the   
one who has raised her, who has cared for her, and I am the one who knows what is best for her.” Ivan straightened himself, the flash of anger dissolving like snowflakes on warm pavement. His tone became businesslike. 

“You see, Alfred, that is why I came to see you, before I go to her. Because I worry that you will try to interfere, to convince her that she should stay here with you and keep you company until your sad little story finally ends. But you will not do this. You will stay out of it. Because you know, deep down inside, that this is what is best for Natalia.”

Alfred felt himself begin to shake, but refused to tear his eyes away from Ivan’s. “Trust me, she won’t need me to convince her not to go with you,” he said.

“Oh really?” Ivan said, “Are you sure about that? After all, she has chosen me over you before.”

Alfred just glared at Ivan with as much force as he could muster.

“Still, she does like you!” Ivan said, that sickening smile returning to his face. “And I like you too, Alfred, I really do. You have a good heart, I’ve always known that. Good intentions. But I can’t risk you interfering with this.”

“And what are you going to do to stop me?” Alfred challenged, the condescending tone in Ivan’s voice emboldening him with anger.

Ivan’s eyes twinkled in a way that made Alfred’s stomach flip. He suddenly remembered Natalia’s words, about men who touched her winding up with missing body parts.

“Believe me Alfred, there are plenty of things that I could do,” Ivan said amiably, “But don’t worry, I won’t do any of that. Because I know that you will stay out of my way.”

“Yeah? And what makes you think that?”

Ivan grinned. “Because I know that you love her,” he said simply, “And I know that, deep down inside of you, you know what kind of person you are, Alfred. Tell me, has she been doing drugs since your little reunion? She was clean before she ran away from me. I used my money to send her to rehab.”

Alfred couldn’t reply- his mouth had gone suddenly dry.

“I guess she did not tell you that. I am not surprised.” Ivan stared into Alfred’s eyes then, and Alfred felt violated, like Ivan could read his mind through his pupils. “You will let me take her back to Chicago,” he said simply, “Because you want what is best for her. And I know that if you think hard, you cannot think of a single person you’ve ever been close to whose life you have not ruined.”

Before Alfred could finish processing these words, could let them sink into his skin and start affecting him, Ivan was turning away. After taking a few steps, he turned to look over his shoulder and back at Alfred.

“It was nice seeing you, Alfred,” he said, “I doubt that Natalia will get the chance to say goodbye. But maybe she will call you.” 

Ivan continued down the street and was soon out of sight, leaving Alfred standing dumbstruck, his heart pounding against his chest. Then, after a moment of struggling himself, he bolted in the opposite direction of where Ivan had gone.

Alfred ran home.

~

When Alfred stepped into the apartment, he was expecting Arthur to be asleep, and for their phone to be resting on the counter where he usually put it. Instead, the phone was nowhere in sight, and after a moment of frantic searching, a voice behind him saying “Hello” almost made Alfred jump several feet in the air.

“Jesus,” Alfred panted, coming down from the surprise as well as his sprint down the block. 

Arthur was leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, still fully dressed in his day clothes. He had bags under his eyes, and was eyeing Alfred with an odd, steady expression.

Alfred would have asked him why he was still awake, but there wasn’t any time. He had to warn Natalia about Ivan coming, because if he didn’t…well, Alfred wasn’t sure what would happen, only that the determination in Ivan’s eyes kept reappearing in Alfred’s mind, his words playing over and over in his ears.

“Where’s the phone?” Alfred gasped.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, seeming vaguely confused about Alfred’s request. “I have it,” he said idly, reaching into his pockets to produce the old cell phone. 

“I need to use it,” Alfred said, feeling the desperation in his voice.

But to Alfred’s frustration, Arthur only sighed, concealing the phone once again inside of his pants pocket. “We need to talk, Alfred,” he said quietly.

Alfred cursed his luck that, whatever this was, Arthur had decided to do it now of all times. “Okay,” he said, swiping his tongue over his lips, “Alright, Arthur, we’ll talk. But right now I really need to-”

“No,” Arthur said, voice raising in a way that made Alfred flinch, “We’re going to talk now.”

Alfred closed his eyes in exasperation. “Fine,” he spat, “What is it?”

“You’ve been gone for two days.”

“Yeah, well, I’m back now.”

Arthur grit his teeth, his right hand forming a tight fist at his side. “Damn it, Alfred! Ludwig came to see me last night. Do you know what could have happened? And I know that you’ve been stealing from   
me.”

Alfred’s eyes widened. “Arthur, I can explain-” 

“I don’t need an explanation,” Arthur said, his words filled with a sadness that made Alfred’s heart ache, Ivan’s words still ringing in his head. Have you ever been close to anyone whose life you haven’t   
ruined?

“I want to help you, Alfred,” Arthur whispered, and Alfred could see tears beginning to fall down his freckled face. “I want to help you, but I just, I don’t know how. Please tell me how.”

You can’t, Alfred thought suddenly. There’s nothing you can do to help me.

“I need the phone,” Alfred repeated, robotic.

Arthur shook his head, beginning to cry harder now. “I thought you were better than this, Alfred.”

I’m not, Alfred thought. I’m nothing.

“I have to go,” he said, knowing that he wasn’t going to get what he needed out of Arthur, and not wanting to ask anymore. He couldn’t ask Arthur for anything anymore. He had already bled him dry.

Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath, and lifted his head to meet Alfred’s eyes. “If you leave now,” he said, a decision in his red eyes, “Then you aren’t welcome back.”

And there it was.

For a moment, they stared at each other, the reality of the moment sinking in between them. Arthur looked like there was still a shred of hope that Alfred would stay, that they would talk and that everything would be fixed. But Alfred’s choice had been made even before the words had left Arthur’s mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred whispered. Arthur closed his eyes and began to cry, but Alfred was already leaving. He wondered if Arthur thought that that’s what Alfred was apologizing for- for leaving. But it wasn’t.

He was apologizing for how long he had stayed.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!!! Okay so, this is going to be the last full chapter of this fic. I was planning on giving a heads up before the last chapter, but I had planned for this one to be broken up into two chapters, and changed my mind last minute because it just felt like it was dragging on. In fact, I changed a lot of things that I had planned for the ending since I first started writing. For instance, I was going to add a bunch of flashbacks that went into more detail about Alfred's life- but I guess I just couldn't bring myself to go there once it came down to it. I hope it doesn't feel like that's something that's missing from this. I just felt better about focusing on Alfred's future and his recovery and all that good stuff, at this point. This fic has gone to some places where I've thought to myself 'really?? Are you really writing about this in fanfiction???' already so. I think that you probably know enough about Al's past for things to make sense, and we don't have to go there again (because ultimately, I just didn't really want to). 
> 
> Also, this is the last full chapter, but there is also a short epilogue that is already written and that I'll publish right after this, so you can go straight to it when you're done.
> 
> And, finally, I HAVE to thank all of you for being so good to me and supporting me for the past...probably about three years since I started this story. This is the longest thing I've ever written, and when I started it I don't think I ever could have imagined getting this far. There's no way I could have done it without all of you. You've all helped me grow and gain confidence as a writer so much, and I just want you to know that if you've ever left a comment or kudos or sent me a message on tumblr or recommended this fic to someone, you've effected my life and made me so happy! So, again, THANK YOU!!! You're all amazing. 
> 
> I'm nervous about this because it's the last chapter, but I really hope you like it! I will stop talking now. ((I love you))

Katyusha’s apartment was a pretty long distance from Alfred and Arthur’s (well, just Arthur’s now) and he worried that he wasn’t going to make it in time. In time for what, exactly, Alfred wasn’t entirely sure. Did he think that Ivan would forcibly make her go with him? If he was being honest with himself, not really. He and Ivan may not have had the greatest relationship, but he knew that the guy was more harmless than he seemed…well, when it came to his sisters, at least.

The real question was, did he think that Natalia could be persuaded to leave? It didn’t seem likely, considering how intent she seemed on cutting him out of her life for good. But Alfred had always been a bit suspicious that the things she said were just to make herself feel better about leaving him.

Either way, Alfred knew that he couldn’t allow her leave him again. There was no point in trying to convince himself that it was for her own wellbeing- he knew that he was being selfish.  
Natalia was all that he had left. 

He was out of breath by the time he was finally at their door.

“Come in, Alfred,” Kat said kindly, seeming a little distracted. “Are you alright? You look a little red.”

“Fine,” Alfred gasped. He allowed himself to be ushered into the small but quaintly decorated living area. Katyusha’s boyfriend was sitting on the sofa, the news running quietly on an antiquated television.   
“Is Nat here?” Alfred said, as soon as he could take in enough air to carry the words.

Katyusha sighed, shaking her head. “She just went out. I am guessing that you know Ivan is in town?”

Alfred nodded. 

Katyusha looked troubled. “It was a bit of a shock to see him again,” she said, “He wanted to bring Natalia back to Chicago with him. But she told him off…then she said she was going for a walk.”

Alfred exhaled, relieved, although he knew that Ivan probably wasn’t going to give up so easily. He wanted to see Natalia, but also figured she probably wanted to be left alone for now. 

“Alfred?” Katyusha said, tilting her head a bit in concern, “Is everything alright? You do not look well.”

Alfred forced a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just worried about you guys, that’s all.”

“You are so sweet, Alfred,” Katyusha tittered. “Why don’t you have a seat, Natalia might be back soon. Would you like anything to drink? Some cookies, maybe?”

Alfred knew he should probably take her up on her offer- he wasn’t in much of a position to be turning down food. But something held him back. 

‘Ruining everyone’s lives….’

Katyusha was so nice. Even after all she and her family had been through, she was still one of the kindest people he had ever met.

“No thanks,” he said, and Katyusha stopped, already on her way to the cupboards. “I have something I have to do. I should probably go.”

Katyusha met his eyes again. He had to turn away from the worry in them. 

“Alright,” she said, “Maybe you can come over later for dinner.”

Alfred looked at the tan carpeted floor.

“Maybe,” he said, his mouth dry and tasting like all the kinds of bad words in the world. Like lies, like words he shouldn’t have said. Like words that were living in the back of his throat, never to be released.

He left.

~

“Alfred?”

There was something that hurt Alfred in the way that Kiku said his name. It was only the slightest hint, because of course Kiku would rather chew off his own left hand than come off as impolite, but Alfred could tell that he was surprised to see him. He had come all the way downstairs to greet Alfred, and was peeking up at him with wide, dark eyes.

There had been a time, only months ago, when Alfred would show up at Kiku’s uninvited about once a week. There had been a time when the two of them would spend entire days together, and sometimes even then Alfred would end up staying the night, because they were still having fun and he didn’t want to leave. Now, Kiku looked at him as if it were a stranger who had come to visit.

And Alfred felt like one.

“Hey, Keeks,” he said, trying to seem as normal as possible. “Sorry to just bust in on ya. Arthur told me that you called.”

Kiku’s eyes studied him, and for a moment Alfred wondered if he knew that he was homeless. He pictured Arthur calling him, frantically asking if he had seen Alfred, if he knew where he was. But the moment passed. Kiku’s mouth broke into a delicate smile. 

“It is good to see you,” he said, ushering Alfred inside. 

“Yeah…sorry it’s been so long….”

Kiku shook his head. “I understand. You have been busy,” he said, and Alfred could detect no accusation in his voice. He had forgotten what it was like to spend time with someone who he had such an easy relationship with. For months now, he had mostly only been around Arthur and Natalia, and…well, simplicity was not a key factor in his relationship with either of them.

But Kiku was different. Kiku was just…someone he could have fun with, laugh and play games and forget about other things. Kiku was his best friend.

As they rode the swift, sleek elevator up to Kiku’s apartment, Alfred was surprised to find that his eyes were stinging lightly with tears. He fought them back aggressively. 

“I have a new game,” Kiku said, and Alfred could tell that he was excited. “I haven’t opened it yet; it seems like something that you would like, so I waited.”

Alfred took a deep breath. It was a normal gesture, but it hurt Alfred in a way that he couldn’t describe. He wondered why acts of kindness seemed more painful to him these days than acts of cruelty.

When they got to the apartment and Kiku offered him food, Alfred accepted. He knew that if he turned it down, Kiku would be suspicious. And, Alfred was hungry.

Alfred felt a little outside of himself, eating junk food on the couch, watching Kiku crack open a new game and pop it into the console. He was explaining the concept of it, and Alfred found himself listening and getting excited as if everything was normal. As if he wasn’t no longer welcome in his home. As if this wasn’t possibly the last time he would ever see his friend.

Kiku’s phone buzzed, and Alfred jumped. Half of him was still expecting a call from Arthur- but Kiku merely glanced at the text before tossing his phone to the side. Apparently, Arthur wasn’t looking for him.

The game Kiku had chosen was an adventure game. As usual, they spent a significant amount of time making their characters, laughing as they suggested ridiculous features and outfits to each other as they went. Alfred wished he could change himself so easily in real life- press a button, and become a different person. Maybe then he could be the friend that Kiku needed. Maybe then he could have stayed with Arthur, or could have gone to live with Matthew and Francis. Maybe he could have had a normal life. Or, at least, a good one. 

But he knew now that he would never be that person. It had been nice for a while…but this life wasn’t the one that he was meant to live. He had borrowed this life and these friends from Arthur, but he had never really fit in. Now it was time to stop pretending that he would ever have any sort of place among good people.

It was an odd, split feeling, hanging out with Kiku and enjoying the game, while simultaneously planning in the back of his mind how he was going to survive the night. This was his last moment, the official end to three years of relative stability, of feeling loved and cared for. This was the end.

On screen, Alfred drove a sword through a goblin’s torso. The creature collapsed, wailing. 

“Good one,” Kiku complimented him through gritted teeth, dark eyes never leaving the screen. But then Alfred’s concentration wavered, and his character was brutally murdered, animated blood spraying gruesomely in all directions.

Kiku stifled a little laugh behind hand. “You’re a little rusty, Alfred,” he said. Alfred gave him a forced smile, knowing that Kiku would freak out if he thought he had insulted Alfred. But really, something inside of Alfred was telling him that he had procrastinated enough. He kept seeing his character being gored in his mind. It was time for him to go.

“I should get going,” Alfred said. Kiku’s face fell almost imperceptibly, and Alfred felt his gut twist in shame and remorse. “Sorry,” he added reflexively, “It was really fun though! I missed you, man.”

Kiku continued to stare at him, a strange expression on his face. “Alfred….” He said quietly, hesitant, “Is something wrong? Do you need help?”

In his surprise at Kiku’s perceptiveness, Alfred almost told him. He almost asked Kiku if he could stay with him, in his nice, warm apartment with food. Somewhere in a hidden part of his mind, he knew that if he stuck around, if he just waited it out for a few days or a week or so, Arthur would let him come back. They could work it out, and everything could go back to normal.

“Nah,” Alfred said, trying to make his smile as reassuring as possible, “Everything’s fine. I’m just kinda tired.”

Kiku nodded after a moment, still studying him. Alfred had to stand up from the couch to break away from his scrutinizing gaze.

“We’ll do this again soon, alright?” he said, ignoring the way that his own voice wavered.

“Alright.” Kiku said, “Goodbye Alfred.”

“Bye Keeks.”

Alfred went to the door, surprised that Kiku didn’t rise to see him out, like he normally would. Instead, he just continued to stare at the screen ahead of him thoughtfully.

Alfred left.

~

Alfred didn’t want to go back to Katyusha’s apartment. He knew that she would rope him into spending the night, and be warm and sweet and loving. Alfred knew he couldn’t handle that. 

So he waited outside of their building, hoping that he would catch Natalia as she was going in or out, and praying that he wouldn’t run into Katyusha or her boyfriend instead. When he finally saw Natalia, she was leaving, and Alfred assumed that she had just finished that dinner he had been invited to. The thought of Natalia staying at home, sitting with her family at a big table for a home cooked meal…it made Alfred feel strange. They had never lived that way when they were teenagers. It was difficult for Alfred to picture.

Natalia was wearing the coat Alfred had given her. “How long have you been here?” she asked, incredulous. “You should have come in.”

Alfred shrugged. “I just wanted to see you.”

Natalia’s eyebrows raised. “Really? Is that it?”

Alfred winced. “I mean…I dunno. I thought maybe we could give Andy a call?”

Natalia heaved a sigh that became a puff of mist in the cold air in front of her. Her eyes flickered around the dark street. “Fine,” she muttered sharply.

Alfred let out a breath of deep relief. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Whatever.” Natalia reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She gave Alfred a raised index finger, telling him to give her a minute, and then stepped into a more hidden spot on the street.   
As he waited, Alfred found himself tapping his foot, anxious and jittery. 

It seemed like an eternity before she came back. 

“Well?” Alfred said, the question coming out a bit more harshly than he had intended. 

Natalia shrugged, but the movement seemed unnatural, like she was trying to be nonchalant about something serious. “He’s out today.”

Alfred felt a flood of fear seep through him, a real, genuine panic that he couldn’t quite justify to the situation. He tried his best not to think about the feeling. “What?” he said, trying to sound as normal as   
he could, “What d’you mean ‘out’? How can he be out?”

“That’s what he said, Alfred. I don’t know what to tell you.”

No, this couldn’t be happening; there had to be a way. Alfred’s eyes narrowed suddenly as a thought popped into his head. 

“Are you lying to me?”

The look of incredulous anger Natalia gave him would have had Alfred shaking in his converse not long ago. But now he didn’t feel afraid of anything. 

“What the fuck, Alfred?” she spat, “No, I’m not lying. We called last minute. There’s nothing left, at least not until tomorrow. It isn’t the end of the fucking world.”

But Alfred didn’t feel that way. He probably should have felt like the world was ending when Arthur had kicked him out, but this was what really made him feel like everything was falling apart. There had   
to be a way to fix it. 

“What about….” Alfred said suddenly, before trailing off as he realized what he had been about to ask. How Natalia would react to it.

“What?” she wondered, not about to let him get away with it.

“I just, I mean…Ivan’s bound to have something on him, right?”

Natalia gaped at him. “How the fuck should I know? I can’t believe you would even think of that!”

“C’mon, Nat…it isn’t a big deal….”

Natalia shook her head. “It’s a big dealt to me, Alfred! After all I’ve done to not be dependent on him anymore….”

Alfred sighed, realizing that this lead would get him nowhere with Natalia, and starting to feel pretty bad about bringing it up. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly, “It’s just been…a bad day. I need a distraction, I   
guess.”

Natalia’s face remained hard with anger, but now Alfred thought that he could see a hint of concern bleeding through. The early winder darkness had already fallen, and the lights of the Braginski’s quiet street was a soft, glowing orange. Natalia’s pale face looked a little ethereal in the light.

“What happened?” she asked.

Alfred wasn’t sure what made him tell the truth. “Arthur kicked me out.”

“Oh,” Natalia seemed strangely unconcerned. “Well, you can stay with us. Why don’t we just go inside, Al? It’s fucking freezing.”

Alfred looked down at his feet. As he stood, the December chill licked the edges of his worn clothes, but he could hardly feel it. His heart was consumed by a deeper need. 

“Maybe I’ll just go for a walk or something,” he mumbled. 

Natalia shook her head, confusion and frustration evident in her ice blue eyes. “I don’t understand you, Alfred. You have nowhere to go. Would living with me really be so bad?”

Alfred could hear the desperation in her voice, the hurt. But he didn’t know how to help her. There was no way he could go inside that building. It might as well have been on the other side of the world.

He looked away. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

Natalia was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, he voice was unusually soft, all of its sharp edges falling away. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen. I’m- I’m scared for you, Alfred. I don’t   
know. I’m scared.”

Alfred could hardly believe that the Natalia he knew would say those words. Instinctively, he reached out to her, wrapping her in his arms and feeling the warmth of her body contrast with the cold air. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, “Nothing bad’s going to happen to me. I’ll figure something out.”

Natalia stepped away from him, laughing bitterly. Alfred focused on the puff of cloudy air that left her mouth, rather than the harsh sound and its meaning. She thought that Alfred was lying to her, but   
really, he didn’t feel like he was. Of course he was going to be okay. What other option was there?

“I’m going for a walk,” he said again. “I just need to clear my head, but I’ll…I’ll come back. Okay?”

Natalia was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were distant and glassy, almost like those of a corpse. Alfred realized with a shock that this was the face she always made when she was trying not to cry. 

“Okay, Alfred,” she said quietly. “Okay. I’m going inside now. Goodbye.”

She went for the door, almost running, before Alfred could say any word of parting to her. He knew that she hated to let people see her cry. For some reason, he found himself wondering if she let   
Katyusha see her tears- if she talked to her sister about her feelings, about her hopes and fears and the things that hurt her. Alfred wondered if she let Katyusha hold her, if she let her make her warm food and hot tea and tell her that everything was going to be alright. 

Alfred only realized that he hadn’t moved from his spot on the quiet sidewalk when a flurry of movement in front of his face shook him out of his thoughts. It was beginning to snow. 

Alfred let his eyes flicker one last time to the warm yellow lights coming from Kat’s apartment building. Some of the windows were decorated with little strings of Christmas lights, and he could even see a   
few small Christmas trees glowing through the glass. He found himself hoping that the Braginskis would have a good Christmas. He knew that he wouldn’t be there to see it.

When Alfred finally left the spot, leaving little footprints on the pavement in the fresh dusting of snow, he went to the nearest payphone. He dredged up an almost forgotten number from the back of his mind, hoping that it would lead him to the one person he needed right now.

~

Alfred waited in the spot he had been instructed to, fidgeting anxiously. He found himself wishing, not for the first time in the past few days, that he could afford his own cell phone. He wanted to know how much longer it would be, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait. And the lack of a way to tell time grated him- everything felt formless and endless, just a haze of grey and lights and snow. He wished he could have something like time to hold him down. 

After what felt like a decade, a car pulled up to the curb. It was sleek and black and stylish. The sight of it made Alfred shiver.

The back window of the car rolled down slowly, revealing the face of a man. He was a little small and significantly lacking in hair, and he stepped out of the car without saying a word to Alfred. He held the door open, and Alfred only hesitated a moment before climbing in.

The ride was comfortable and silent. Outside, traffic grew as they headed uptown, the streets filled with holiday traffic and tourists. Alfred didn’t think he had ever been in a car with so much leather.

Alfred was dropped off and led into a hotel. The hotel wasn’t anything particularly lavish, but it was clean and bright and warm. Alfred hadn’t even realized how long he had been standing out in the cold, and he found himself shaking his hands a little as he rode up a glass elevator, trying to bring the feeling back to them.

When they made it to the hotel room, the man accompanying Alfred gave the door a quick rap. Alfred expected more strangers to come to the door.

Instead he was greeted by Ivan’s familiar smile.

“Alfred, how good to see you again!” he said, and Alfred cringed. “I was so surprised to get a call on my old phone. Why don’t you come in?”

Alfred stepped into the hotel room, the back of his neck prickling from Ivan’s friendliness. He knew that Ivan was just happy to see Alfred crawling back to him- but his cheeriness still made Alfred nervous.

The room wasn’t like Francis and Matthew’s had been; this one was designed more like an apartment, with a living room and kitchen, and a couple of doors leading into other rooms. The walls and all of   
the furniture were overwhelmingly white, and everything was impeccably neat and tidy. Alfred could see the lights coming from outside through a large window on the living room side.

“Have a seat, Alfred,” Ivan said. “Maybe you would like some room service? The food here is not really to my taste, but you are not very picky, if I remember….”

“I’d rather just get this over with,” Alfred said.

Ivan frowned. “Be nice Alfred…I still may change my mind about giving you what you want. You know how I worry about you.”

Alfred felt all of his muscles tense in panic. “You don’t,” he spat, “You just like fucking with me. I brought money.” The money was all that Alfred had left. But he would worry about that in the morning. 

“I do not want your money,” Ivan said honestly. 

Alfred reached into his pocket, drawing out his remaining was of bills and throwing them onto the floor in front of Ivan. He held Ivan’s eye contact, even as his piercing stare made Alfred feel exposed and   
afraid. 

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Alfred pronounced. “You can’t just push me around. You can’t make Natalia do what you want, either. I’m only here because I have no other options right now.”

Alfred expected to get some kind of rise out of Ivan for that. Instead, he raised a white eyebrow, a concerned little frown developing on his mouth. “’No other options’? You sound very desperate, Alfred.   
Have you considered getting help?”

“Shut up!” Alfred yelled, assuming that Ivan was mocking him. “I didn’t come here to play games.” He felt every syllable weighed heavy with his own weakness as he choked out his next words.

“Please, Ivan. Please.”

For several long moments, Ivan studied Alfred with a level gaze. Then he bent down and picked up the wad of dollars that Alfred had thrown onto the floor. Then he reached into his pocket, drew out a   
plastic bag, and pressed it, along with the money, into Alfred’s hand.

Alfred stared at his now clenched fist, shocked. “What are you doing?”

“I said I do not want your money.” There was an undertone to Ivan’s voice that made Alfred narrow his eyes in suspicion. It almost sounded like…happiness.

“What’s going on?” Alfred asked, suddenly quiet and feeble with growing fear.

Ivan smiled; it wasn’t the smile that Alfred was used to, empty and mocking. It was genuinely happy…but also a little bit sad, as well. “I am sorry, Alfred,” he said, “But I need to get my sister back. I have to   
protect her.”

Alfred’s heart raced. “What are talking about?”

Alfred heard the sudden creak of a door’s hinges to his left. He whipped his head around, already on guard, wondering if he had been lured into a trap. But when he saw who was standing in the bedroom   
doorway, his stomach plummeted even further in terror.

“Natalia….”

Natalia didn’t move from the doorway, her pale skin and thin form making her look oddly spectral with the dark of the room behind her. Her face was almost impassive, but Alfred could see the sadness in   
her eyes, deep and pervasive. But she didn’t look surprised, and that was probably what hurt Alfred the most.

“Don’t, Alfred,” she whispered. Alfred could tell that she was trying not to cry again. He thought about how wherever he went, other people’s tears followed.

Ivan crossed his arms over his chest. “You see?” he said to Natalia, “It is like I said. Boys like him do not ever change…you will always be the second most important thing.” All of this was said without a   
hint of malice or gloating, just stated as simple facts. And he was right, wasn’t he? Alfred loved Natalia. But in the end, he had still betrayed her. 

“You have nothing keeping you here now,” Ivan continued, “So you will come with me, yes?”

Alfred closed his eyes, his hands clenching hard around his money and his drugs. All that he had to his name- enough to last him for how long? A couple of nights? Alfred was suddenly aware that he end was coming. Natalia was going to leave, and he was going to remain in the city of all of his mistakes, waiting for death to take him. This was his last chapter. 

He felt tears running down his face, and soon there were cold, delicate hands on his cheeks.

“It isn’t his fault,” Natalia said quietly, still wiping the tears from Alfred’s face. “How could you do this to him? Katyusha and I are trying to help him!”

Alfred didn’t open his eyes. He wanted to tell Natalia to go away, to leave him to his fate. That he deserved it. That she deserved better.

“There is nothing you can do for him, Natalia,” Ivan was saying gently. “I have seen it many times. This will only end in pain for you.”

Natalia’s hands left Alfred’s face, and he opened his eyes to see her rounding on her brother. 

“Not if you keep giving him drugs! And all to get me here, you awful, manipulative bastard-“

“Natalia…you don’t understand…please listen to me-“

“Shut up! I am so sick of you trying to control my life!”

Alfred didn’t hear the rest of the argument. The clean hotel room, the yelling voices, the feeling of guilt- it all became too much for him, all at once. He ran quietly, knowing that the two were bound to   
notice, but prayed that he could get his feet moving fast enough to leave the building. Or that they wouldn’t follow him.

That hope was dashed quickly with the sound of Natalia screaming his name. She stepped out into the hallway after him, but Alfred forced himself to look only ahead, shoving his only possessions into his   
pocket as he made for the stairs.

“Alfred! Alfred please, please don’t do this!”

There was only on set of footsteps behind him, and Alfred found some comfort in knowing that Ivan had let Natalia go. As if he would ever do anything to deliberately hurt her.

Alfred ran until he was back at the hotel lobby, gasping. When he pushed the door open, he felt Natalia’s hand grab onto his jacket, and they tumbled together out into the night and the snow and the crowds. 

Natalia maneuvered herself so that she was standing in front of Alfred, her hand still gripping his jacket with determined strength. She looked up into his eyes, challenging him.

“I’m sorry,” was all Alfred managed to say. He pried his arm away from her, and took off, making sure to lose himself in the crowd. 

He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder one last time as he ran. Natalia didn’t make a move to chase him- she just watched him go, eyes wide and sad. Alfred looked away.

He had had so many options, so many chances to save himself. And he had just run away from his very last one.

Alfred slowed to a dazed walk, thinking that the reason must be that he no longer wanted to be saved.

~

Alfred’s hands shook as he fumbled with the bag that Ivan had given him, and reached into his pocket for his pipe and his lighter. He had made his way to midtown, and was sitting in a dark alleyway, a   
narrow refuge from the people passing and cars making noise on the street. He wasn’t the only one taking up residence in this spot, but the other person didn’t seem very aware of Alfred, huddled in a   
beat up sleeping bag against the cold.

Alfred wished he had more to protect himself from the chill with, but knew that soon he wouldn’t need it. His stomach growled, but he knew that his hunger would soon be gone as well.

Alfred flicked the lighter with his thumb, and took a deep breath.

~

Arthur was cold.

He drew his long coat around him as he walked through the snow-covered streets. It was beginning to pile up, and most people had finally given up on being outside, leaving only the stray wanderer and   
the effervescent glow of lights on the white ground to keep Arthur company.

He blinked rapidly in an attempt to see through the sheets of white. He knew should have gone out looking the instant he’d heard there was a storm coming. Instead, he had gone to work, stubbornly thinking that the harsh weather would bring Alfred back to his metaphorical doorstep.

But when Arthur had stepped outside of the club and seen only white, and then rushed home barely into his shift to see only an empty apartment, his resolve cracked harder than he had thought his stubborn nature was capable of. As he searched the streets, bent down against the icy wind, Arthur couldn’t help but think that he was quite changed from the hardheaded teenager he had been when he had first come to the United States. He wondered how much of that had been Alfred’s doing. He wondered if he would ever get the chance to thank him.

“Alfred!” Arthur called, but the wind seemed to steal his voice out of his mouth, throwing his words in all the wrong directions. Arthur was losing track of where he was, the streets all looking the same in the storm.

The snow continued to pile up. Arthur started to wonder if he would even be able to get himself home. 

Arthur heard a police siren off in the distance. The sound jarred something in his mind, and he looked around himself, his eyes landing on a familiar building. 

He braced himself against the wind, and fought his way to towards it.

~

“Ludwig!” Feliciano sang. He stepped out of the kitchen, a steaming mug in both of his hands. He was wearing a huge sweater that went all the way up to his chin, black pants that hugged his legs, and a pair of fuzzy socks. Ludwig smiled fondly at the sight of him.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Feliciano asked, setting the mugs down on their proper coasters. Once he was settled, a little white ball of fluff began making sounds at Feli’s leg.

Feliciano laughed. “Do you want to come up, Gnocchi?” 

Ludwig smiled as the little thing hopped up onto Feli’s laugh, where he was greeted with lots of petting and Italian baby talk. Ludwig still wasn’t entirely sure how he had ended up with such an   
undignified dog, not to mention one that was named after pasta, but he was just as charmed by the creature as his boyfriend (if not a little more so). After several moments of being fawned over by 

Feliciano, the dog hopped its way into Ludwig’s lap. Feli laughed when Gnocchi started giving Ludwig little kisses on his face.

They were half-heartedly bickering about what to watch on Netflix when the phone rang. Ludwig sighed and stood, leaving Gnocci to waddle once again into Feliciano’s lap. 

“Hello?” he said into the receiver.

“Mr. Beilschmidt, a man named Arthur Kirkland is here to see you.”

Ludwig stood for a moment in surprise, wondering what Arthur was doing paying a visit this late at night, in the middle of a snowstorm. 

“Mr. Beilschmidt?” the doorman asked, and Ludwig quickly stuttered that he could let Arthur come upstairs.

“Who’s here?” Feliciano asked. 

“It’s Arthur.”

Feliciano pouted in confusion. “That’s weird. Maybe he wants to have movie night with us!”

Something told Ludwig that this probably wasn’t the case. Arthur was Feliciano’s friend, and only Ludwig’s by association…he didn’t think that the man had ever even been to the apartment before.

A few minutes later and there was a knock on the door. Feli bounced out of his seat and was there before Ludwig could beat him. He threw the door open, revealing a very windswept and red-nosed   
Arthur. His hands were buried in the pockets of his coat, his blond hair wet with still melting snow.

“Arthur!” Feliciano gasped, quickly ushering his friend into the apartment. “What were you doing out there?”

Arthur didn’t say anything, and Ludwig frowned in concern. “It’s freezing out,” he said, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Arthur shook his head as he was led by Feliciano to the couch, already removed of his wet coat. Feli draped Arthur in the blanket that hung over the back of the couch and took a seat next to him, his arm   
resting on his shoulder, and concern in his brown eyes. 

“What’s going on, Arthur?” he asked, “Do you need anything? I can make some tea if you want.”

Arthur shook his head again. “Do you have anything stronger?” he asked with a wry smile. 

Ludwig and Feli shared a brief look, and Ludwig nodded. He went into the kitchen and poured Arthur a glass of scotch. 

“Thank you,” Arthur said gratefully. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

“What’s going on, Arthur? Is everything alright?” Feliciano asked.

Arthur stared at the coffee table, his expression far away. The dog started to make little yipping sounds at him, and Feli picked her up and held her in his arms to keep her quiet.

“I was looking for Alfred,” Arthur finally said, his voice lowered to almost a whisper, his eyes downcast.

Ludwig felt his chest clench with sudden anxiety at Arthur’s tone, and the broken look in his eyes. He found himself glancing towards the nearest window, where the snow was falling, silent and ominous.

“What?” Feliciano said immediately, his eyes blown wide. “Is Alfred missing? He isn’t out in the storm, is he?”

Arthur set his glass down with a thunk onto the coffee table, slumping forward a little in what looked like pain. 

“It’s my fault,” Arthur choked. “I kicked him out. I just thought…I don’t know. I didn’t know what else to do.” He put his face in his hands. “I didn’t think that he would actually go.”

Feliciano kept his hand steady on Arthur’s shoulder, but Ludwig could see the tears beginning to gather in his eyes. Feli had been expressing his worries about Alfred for months now. His lips began to silently move, and Ludwig knew that he was praying to himself.

It took several moments for Arthur to gather himself enough to continue. “I didn’t think that he would have gone very far. But it’s impossible to look for him in this weather.” He looked up, and Ludwig was   
surprised to see that his gaze landed on him. “I thought that…maybe you could help. I don’t know. I’m sure you know all of the places where he could be better than I do.”

Ludwig felt his mouth pop open a little in surprise. When he saw that Feliciano was now looking at him as well, he swallowed. “I don’t…” Ludwig scratched his head. “I’m not sure how much I could do for you. You should definitely make a call to the station and tell them that you have someone missing out in the storm, so they can keep an eye out.”

Arthur shook his head. “No…no, I can’t do that.”

Ludwig frowned. “Why not?”

Feliciano gave Ludwig a pointed look. “Ludwig….”

Arthur sighed, the sound frustrated. “I can’t call the police. If one of them stumbles across him, I don’t know what they’ll find. I don’t know what he has on him, what he’s doing.”

Ludwig’s scowl deepened. “You know, I am also a police officer, Arthur,” he grumbled.

Feliciano looked up at him sternly. “Ludwig,” he said again, pleading.

Ludwig had to look away from his boyfriend’s wide eyes, knowing that he couldn’t trust himself when it came to them. “In jail and alive is better than out here and dead,” he said simply. It was the truth.   
Ludwig didn’t want to see anything happen to someone as young as Alfred. Perhaps a little stint in jail would get him out of his bad habits….

Ludwig was shaken from these thoughts by the sound of a shaking sob. He looked in a panic to Feliciano, thinking that he had made him cry, but he was met with only a hard stare from his boyfriend. It   
was Arthur who had begun crying, his head buried in his arms. The sobs sounded so broken that Ludwig found himself flushing, ashamed of his harsh words of death. 

Feliciano stopped glaring at Ludwig in favor of running a comforting hand through Arthur’s hair. “Shh, it’s alright,” he whispered.

“He can’t go to jail,” Arthur gasped, “He wouldn’t make it. He needs help.” He looked up at Ludwig. “He’s a good boy. You know him. He just needs someone to take care of him.”

‘You know him.’ Arthur was right. Alfred wasn’t just a faceless name to Ludwig- they had spent time together, spoken with each other. He knew that Alfred liked superheroes and ate too much fast food,   
that he was terrified of ghosts and that he had wanted to be an astronaut when he was a kid. Ludwig knew Alfred. 

When he had first met Feliciano, he’s had no way of knowing that he would be adopting a huge, complicated family along with him. But that’s what had happened. 

“Where did you see him last?” Ludwig finally spoke up. “Is there anyone you know who he may have gone to?” 

Arthur looked up, his face red and glistening. He quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, seeming embarrassed. Feliciano smiled softly at Ludwig. 

“I…” Arthur said, thinking, “Um. Actually, yes. I can think of a few people.”

Ludwig was already getting his coat.

“Then that is a good place to start.”

~

Alfred’s heart was beating fast.

That was the whole point though, really. Some people- like Arthur, with his alcohol- went for things that would slow them down, calm their nerves. But Alfred reveled in the adrenaline. It was fast, and it   
left you crashing to the ground when it was finished with you, but in those minutes, you could forget that anything in the world was impossible. 

It was the crash, though, that was starting to become a problem. Every time Alfred came down, he sunk a little bit further. The cold was getting to him, and it was becoming hard to keep track of where his limbs were, getting difficult to make his fingers obey him. 

And there were thoughts. Thoughts about guilt and thoughts about love, about where he should be right now and why he had ruined everything good in his life. Thoughts about his brother and his foster   
parents and Arthur and Kiku and Natalia. Thoughts about everything that he had wanted so badly to be.

There was only one cure for these thoughts. He had to keep going.

He took a hit, and everything else became obsolete. The rush took him away from himself, from the earth, from the harsh cold and the snow that was piling up around and over him. His heart beat quickly,   
sending his blood shooting like firecrackers through his veins. Reminding him that he was alive.

Suddenly, though, it was like the rollercoaster had flung itself off the tracks. His heart was straining as if it were trying to escape. Alfred clutched his chest, gasping.

It was difficult to breathe, and Alfred tried to regulate the flow of air through his body, but nothing seemed to be working right. He felt himself floating in and out of consciousness.

This time, none of the effects on his brain could make Alfred forget to be afraid.

~

Ludwig braced himself against the cold wind. The snow was finally beginning to slow down, leaving only a few flurries and the swirling dust of already fallen snow being stirred by the wind. Midtown was   
eerily quiet in the wake of the storm, leaving the city looking like the ruins of an abandoned planet. However, some shops still were open and glowing with light. From somewhere in the distance, Ludwig thought he could here Christmas music, maybe from a souvenir shop.

It was oddly tranquil, but at the same time it unsettled Ludwig. It made him think of death.

They had gotten the tip from a Russian family who Arthur had taken them to that Alfred had been uptown. That’s were Arthur and Feliciano were now. It made Ludwig more comfortable that they were together.

Ludwig was a logical man. But a certain amount of time doing something with potentially dangerous situations had given him instincts. And so, Ludwig had found himself here, checking every covered bus stop and peeking into every alleyway.

There weren’t as many people out on the street as there might have been in different weather. But there were some. Ludwig wished that he could attempt to save more than one life that night.

But he also knew that one life would be more than enough.

When he found Alfred, he almost didn’t recognize him. He was curled on his side against a building, a mere shapeless form in the darkness of the alley. But when Ludwig flicked his flashlight into the area,   
he saw the glint of familiar glasses, and dirty blond hair with one unruly piece sticking up.

Ludwig threw himself to the ground beside Alfred, wiping the snow from his unmoving body. A look at his face told Ludwig that his eyes were closed, but to his relief, the boy whimpered when Ludwig   
moved him. Ludwig quickly reached into his phone and called for an ambulance.

“Ludwig?” Alfred gasped when he heard him speaking into the phone. Ludwig could tell from the sound of his voice that he was in a great deal of pain. 

Ludwig took out his pocket knife and cut through Alfred’s jacket. “It’s alright Alfred. Try to stay calm.” 

“It hurts.”

Ludwig studied Alfred’s face. His eyelids were flickering, and a bit of saliva was escaping the corner of his mouth. 

“What hurts, Alfred?” Ludwig asked.

Alfred sucked in a particularly difficult breath.

“My heart.”

Ludwig nodded to himself, every part of him focused on keeping Alfred alive until the ambulance came. He could only hope that the snow wouldn’t cause too much of a delay. They had said on the phone   
that it may be a problem. 

Alfred moaned, clutching at his chest. “I don’t wanna die,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t wanna die. I’m scared.”

Ludwig felt his stomach flip at how very childlike Alfred sounded. “You aren’t going to die. I promise.” Ludwig finally pulled the coat off of Alfred, revealing how his chest was riding and falling with fast,   
shallow breaths. The lighting were they were was very low, just a bit of the light from the street filtering into the place between two buildings. Ludwig could see the almost glowing white of the snow, and   
the grey of his vaporized breath. He could also see the reflected glint of the tears that were sliding down Alfred’s pale cheeks.

Alfred murmured something, but it was so quiet that it was almost like he was mouthing them. His eyes had drifted closed, but his lips continued to move.

Ludwig shook Alfred’s shoulder gently. “What was that?” he asked, wanting to keep Alfred talking before he lost consciousness. “Alfred. What are you trying to say?”

Alfred gasped again, the sound tapering off into another pained groan through chattering teeth. 

“I…m’sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry. Tell Arthur….”

Ludwig rubbed at his forehead. This was too much. He had seen a lot, but he didn’t know what he would do if he had to watch this boy die in his arms. If he had to hold Feliciano as he cried, to see the   
look in Arthur’s eyes when he told him, to tell him that Alfred had said that he was sorry….

Ludwig peeked out into the street. He couldn’t hear any sirens.

“Just keep breathing Alfred,” he said, “Just try to keep breathing.”

It looked like Alfred almost smiled. “Easy for you to say….”

Ludwig shook his head. Alfred was making jokes.

But Alfred was also beginning to fall silent, his ragged attempts to draw air into his lungs losing their determination. His eyes were fully closed again.

“Alfred,” Ludwig said, panicking. “Alfred, just stay awake. The ambulance will be here soon.”

There was no response. Alfred now had a peaceful look to him, the muscles in his face smooth and his chest still. Ludwig couldn’t see the breath leaving his mouth anymore. Hands shaking from cold and   
from fear, he reached out to take hold of Alfred’s hand, ready to gauge the situation according to number of beats per minute.

Instead, his fingers felt nothing.

Ludwig forced back the urge to become numb with shock. He was well-trained and used to dealing with situations of stress- but the thought of losing a part of the messy, beautiful family that Feliciano   
had brought into his life caused his hands to become slick with cold sweat. He forced himself to focus, knowing very well that every moment was critical.

As Ludwig bent down and pressed his hands, overlapping, to Alfred’s chest, he felt like his own heart might fall out and land on the boy beneath him. 

He let himself let go of thoughts, focusing only on his task. He pressed his hands against Alfred’s chest, and brought his lips to Alfred’s with determined precision. He counted.

Ludwig grasped Alfred’s wrist a second time. Again, there was nothing. He went back to work.

Alfred wasn’t breathing. His heart wasn’t beating. But that didn’t mean that he was gone. Ludwig knew that life really resided in the head.

For whatever reason, Ludwig found himself thinking of Feliciano. Their meeting had been the result of a bizarre twist of fate. He thought about what would have happened if he hadn’t bumped into Lovino   
that day, if Lovino hadn’t been carrying cans of spray paint, if Ludwig hadn’t tripped over Feliciano where he was sitting selling paintings in the hot summer sun. If Feliciano hadn’t invited Ludwig to his art   
gallery. If Ludwig hadn’t decided to come. If he hadn’t been instantly drawn in by Feli’s compassion and love of life and his gentle, tinkling laughter.

If it weren’t for these things, then Ludwig wouldn’t be here, trying to save the life of a boy he barely knew. Ludwig had never been one to believe in fate, but he felt that this had to have some meaning. 

It had to mean that Alfred was supposed to live.

Ludwig continued to push and breath and count, refusing to give up. He was freezing cold, and his pants were soaked through with snow, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

Ludwig reached for Alfred’s wrist. At first, he thought that the flutter he felt was a trick of his imagination. Then he looked at Alfred’s face and saw a faint puff of mist escape his bluing lips.

Ludwig collapsed back into the snow, trembling.

In the distance, he could hear sirens.

~

Matthew pressed the palms of his hands into warm ceramic. The smell of hot chocolate drifted up to his nose, and he smiled to himself. There had been a storm earlier that day, and the night outside was   
a silent, snow-covered one. Matthew’s favorite kind. 

He was sitting on a plush couch in their living room, his legs drawn up to his chest and his toes just sticking out off the edge of the cushion. His dad was just finishing fussing around in the kitchen, cleaning up after a late dessert, and Matthew had been instructed to find a Christmas movie on T.V. that they could watch.

Matthew was certainly happy to be home for winter break. School was alright, but there was something about this time of year that made him feel like being home with his family.

Not that all of his family was there with him.

Matthew sighed and continued to flick through the channels absently. He jumped a little when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

He checked the screen, smiling widely when he saw that it was Michelle. He brought the phone up to his ear with a happy little flourish.

“Hey Michelle,” he said, “Merry Christmas! I mean, it isn’t really Christmas yet, but, um….”

“Matt,” Michelle’s voice sounded wrong. Matthew straightened in his seat, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly prickling. 

A few minutes later and Matthew was shooting into the kitchen, his abrupt entrance causing Francis to drop the bowl that he was drying.

“Matthew! You are going to give your poor Papa a heart attack….”

“I have to go,” Matthew said quickly, his mouth dry. “I have to go to New York.”

Francis’s eyes widened in surprise. He had his hair pulled back into a bun, but bits were still falling out into his face. “What? Why, what is happening?”

“Alfred’s in the hospital,” Matthew choked a little on his words. He felt shocked from how fast he had gone from relaxing on a snowy night to being scared for his brother’s life. It was like he had been   
thrown unexpectedly into freezing water.

Francis watched his son with concern. “Matthew....”

“It’s bad,” Matthew said, fighting back tears, “I…I have to be there, Papa. I need to go.”

Francis hesitated, his eyebrows furrowed pensively. Then he sighed. 

“Of course you do, Matthew,” he said, stepping over to give his son and embracing him in a tight hug. Matthew reciprocated quickly, grateful to have the warm, familiar reassurance of his father’s arms. He   
was afraid.

“Let me see if I can get us on a flight tonight.” Francis said when he broke away from Matthew. “There are always people who cancel at the last minute.”

__

“Matthew,” Francis said, running up to Matthew in the airport. He was a little breathless, his face a bit flushed from running around, talking to clerks and to passengers. Matthew had been doing the same,   
but nothing had come up- at least nothing soon enough for Matthew. There was a frightened restlessness in his bones that told him he needed to get going now. He would hitchhike to New York in the   
back of a truck, if he had to.

Thankfully, though, it didn’t seem like he would. Francis was holding a ticket in his hand. 

“I could only get one,” he gasped, “The plane leaves in fifteen minutes, Matthew. You need to get going if you want to make it.”

Matthew stared at his father, his already fraying nerves hitting him with a spike of panic. “You…you mean you can’t come with me?”

Francis gave Matthew a soft, loving look. “No, Matthew. If you don’t want to wait until tomorrow, you will have to go without me.” 

Matthew’s eyes felt wet. He was dazed and sick with worry, everything moving in a strange blur ever since he’d gotten the call from Michelle. There was no way he could do this without his Papa. He   
needed him by his side.

He didn’t realize that tears were streaming down his face until Francis surged forward to embrace him. Matthew held onto his dad tightly, shaking sobs being ripped out of him as the reality of what was   
happening threatened to overwhelm him.

Francis hushed him, petting his hair gently. But when he spoke, his voice was stern. “Matthew,” he said, pulling back to look his son in the eyes, “You do not need me there, mon petite. You are so brave   
and strong. I will get onto the first flight that I can. But right now, the one that Alfred needs is you.”

Matthew wiped his eyes, throat aching with the effort of stopping his tears. He nodded.

“I love you,” He told Francis.

Francis hugged him again, briefly this time. “I love you too, Matthew. So, so much. I will let you know as soon as I get a flight. But you have to go now, alright?”

Matthew nodded, feeling some kind of strength filling him, although he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Either way, he held onto it, feeling it like a warm fire inside his chest.

He said goodbye to his father with a promise that he would keep him updated. Then, he checked the number of his gate on the ticket, and ran.

___

The flight wasn’t long. It took about an hour and a half in the air before Matthew landed in New York, but the time spent circling around the runway made him restless and frustrated. After he was finally   
aloud off of the plane, it took him a while to hail a cab, and what felt like forever for them to maneuver through the traffic to the hospital where Alfred was. 

But he got there. He had wondered on the plane if New York would be as cold as Toronto. Somehow, he thought it was even colder, the aftermath of the snowstorm casting an eerie quiet over the busy   
city.

Matthew felt strangely steady as he ran into the hospital. His goal was set in front of him. He had come this far. Nothing was going to stop him from seeing Alfred.

He approached the desk and spoke to the woman there with strength in his voice. 

“I’m here to see Alfred Jones,” he said, “I’m his brother.”

The woman nodded and began typing on her keyboard. Matthew’s palms were sweating despite having just been outside in the cold.

The woman examined the screen. “I’m sorry,” she said, and Matthew’s heart very possibly stopped for the split second until she continued, “He isn’t available for visitation right now. But if you want, you   
can sit in the waiting room.”

Matthew bit his lip. “Can you tell me anything else? Is he okay?” 

The woman gave Matthew a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. There isn’t much I can tell you right now. You’ll have to wait.”

Matthew nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” 

He found his way to the room that had been pointed out to him, starting to feel sick again. How would he know what was happening to Alfred? What if….

“Matthew?” 

Matthew had been so deep into his thoughts and worries that he didn’t even notice the familiar face- no, the entire room full of familiar faces- that greeted him.  
Matthew wasn’t completely sure which one had spoken to him, he was so distracted. But once he looked over, he recognized the eyes of all of Alfred’s friends on him. Antonio and Lovino were there, and so were Feliciano and Ludwig. Kiku was there too, and Laura and Michelle-

Matthew’s view was suddenly blocked by a curtain of curly brown hair. 

“You’re here,” Michelle cried into his shoulder, “I can’t believe you came.”

Matthew hugged her tightly, somehow feeling more at home than he had in months. “Of course I did. He’s my brother.”

Michelle pulled away, wiping tears. 

“Shelly,” someone piped up in a sly tone. Matthew looked over and saw that it was Lovino. “You called him?”

“I had to,” Michelle said. Surprisingly, Lovino didn’t tease- in fact, he just nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Welcome back, Matt,” he said.

“Thanks.” Matthew let his eyes sweep over everyone, noticing how ragged they all looked. It was late, and most of them were sporting red eyes with dark circles under them, presumably from lack of sleep   
or crying or both. At the end of the attached row of chairs sat Ludwig, who looked tense and stoic, his eyes not ever leaving the door into the emergency care unit. Feliciano was next to him, his head on his shoulder. Beside them was Kiku, who had his legs pulled up to his chest, his eyes watery and far away.

Matthew would be happy to see them again if he didn’t have only one thing on his mind, obliterating every other thought and emotion. “Do you know anything?” he asked all of them.

Michelle shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Matt. None of us are family, so we won’t know anything until we can go talk to him.”

A surprising surge of frustrated anger washed through Matthew. “I’m his twin brother!” he snapped. 

Antonio gave him a level look. “Not on paper, Matthew.”

Matthew felt like kicking over the trashcan in the corner and ripping the stupid television that was playing the same news stories over and over off of the wall. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this angry   
in his entire life.

It must have showed, because Michelle took his hand. He forced himself to take deep breaths.

Once his mind had cleared a little, Matthew realized something. “Where’s Arthur?”

Antonio looked at the ground. “We aren’t sure. He…is having a bad time.”

Matthew tried not to let the unfamiliar feeling of rage resurface, knowing that it was mostly coming from his own frustration and upset. But still, it seemed cowardly of Arthur to not be there for Alfred.   
Matthew could understand the desire to run away. But in the end, his love for Alfred had overcome that.

“Come and sit, Matt,” Michelle said quietly. Matthew let himself be led to a seat. 

Matthew sat, and Michelle reached out and held his hand. 

They waited.

~

Still more or less stranded in Ottawa airport, Francis was finally allowed to act as panicked as he was actually feeling.

He had known that he had to act as calm as possible around Matthew. But now, all he wanted was to be with his son, to break through all of this chaos and confusion and know what on earth was going on   
already, and to have his family together again.

It wasn’t helping that he’d been trying to contact Arthur for hours now, and was still being met with a silence that somehow felt petulant even over empty airwaves. Had anyone ever existed on the planet   
who was more difficult than Arthur Kirkland?

Francis couldn’t bring himself to leave the airport, no matter how slim the chances of getting a flight before the next day were beginning to seem. He had resorted to asking passengers already awaiting   
departure for their tickets, desperately explaining his situation to them and attempting to seem as pitiful as possible. For that, at least, he didn’t really have to work very hard.

“My son is in the hospital,” he told a kind-looking couple in the departure lounge. “I do not know if he is alright…I just want to be there. I know that it is too much to ask, but….”

Apparently is was too much to ask, because the couple smiled sadly at him, shaking their heads. They asked him if there was anything else they could do to help.

Francis was midway through politely declining when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a woman standing beside him, looking nervous.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I couldn’t help but overhear. I wouldn’t mind giving up my seat.”

Francis stared at her in wonder. “Really? You would do that?”

The woman nodded. “Nothing I have to do is as important.”

Francis felt tears in his eyes, and had to fight back some poetic thoughts about the selflessness of mankind in order to continue functioning normally. He did, however, allow himself to give his savior a   
kiss on each cheek.

“I cannot thank you enough. I will pay you, of course! Here, let me give you my information….”

~

Francis called Matthew as soon as he landed in New York. By then, it was nearly time for the sun to begin rising, and the dark sky had begun to take on a pre-morning glow.

He immediately asked which hospital they were at, so that he could be there with everyone. But the answer he got from Matthew was not what he expected.

“Don’t come here yet,” his son’s voice sounded tired and stressed, “I need you to go find Arthur.”

Francis frowned. “He isn’t there with you?”

“No. But he should be. I don’t….” Matthew trailed off for a moment. “I want him to be here when Alfred wakes up.”

“Of course,” Francis said, although really he just wanted to rush to the hospital and hold his son, especially after hearing how bad he sounded over the phone. After so many hours with no new   
information, Francis couldn’t blame him.

They ended the conversation, and Francis rushed to catch a taxi. Francis like to think that, even though their acquaintance had been somewhat brief, he knew Arthur Kirkland quite well. 

And he couldn’t imagine Arthur wanting to be anywhere other than his home.

~

Francis was surprised to be let into the apartment so easily. There was a characteristic sort of resistance that he had come to expect from Arthur. But, reaching him over the ancient, crackling intercom,   
Arthur’s voice had nothing but slight surprise, and terrible sadness.

Francis nearly sprinted up the stairs to the apartment. When he got there, Arthur opened the door for him, watching him with bloodshot green eyes. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Francis’s heart ached.

“You know,” he said, “If you want to hide, the best place is probably not your own home. People will tend to look for you there.”

Arthur looked at him with something that almost looked like fear. “I’m not hiding,” he insisted, voice fragile, “I just…I just….”

Francis heard the fracture in Arthur’s voice beginning even before it broke, and moved instinctively to hug him, holding on tight. 

Arthur sobbed into his shoulder. For a long moment, the quiet held. 

“It’s my fault,” Arthur cried, “I told him to leave. I told him to leave, Francis. And now, and now he’s….”

Francis held Arthur tightly. “It is not your fault. Whatever happens, Arthur…you are the one who has done everything for Alfred. You were the first person who cared for him. Some things are just beyond   
your control.”

“You were right. I should have gotten him help. I did everything wrong, Francis. How can I face them?”

Francis shook his head. “Let’s go inside,” he said- they were still standing in the doorway. Arthur let himself be led into the apartment, all but falling onto the pillows on the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his folded arms. Francis rubbed his back soothingly. 

“You cannot run from this, mon couer. Alfred needs you.”

“No,” Arthur said, “He needs you, and Matthew. I’m just not cut out for this. I don’t know how to help him. I’m lost.”

Francis wiped at Arthur’s tears. “You already have, Arthur. You have helped him so much.”

“But it wasn’t enough.”

“Do not say that.” 

“I don’t know what to do.”

Looking into Arthur’s eyes, Francis felt that he could see the world of his mind, all of the twisting paths that he was wandering on, lost. He had been stuck in the same woods for too long now.

Through the window, a bright orange sunset was making an entrance. 

“No one expects you to know exactly how to handle everything, Arthur,” Francis said, his hand still on Arthur’s back, “No one could ever expect that. You have done so much for him, sacrificed so much-   
but now we have come to a point where it isn’t enough anymore. That is not your fault.”

Francis pressed a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. He was afraid that Arthur would pull away, but the motion had been an instinct of comfort, nothing more, and Arthur didn’t move. “You are not alone in this.   
We can help now. It’s time you gave yourself a break.”

To Francis’ immense surprise, Arthur let his head fall forward until it hit Francis’ shoulder. Francis wrapped his arms around him, taking a moment to be selfishly happy to be with him again. It had been a long four months.

“We will figure this out,” He assured Arthur. “Everything will be okay.”

~

Matthew felt like he had been watching the same bit of wall for the past hundred years. His eyes were dry and aching with the need to sleep, but he couldn’t allow his mind to rest without knowing if Alfred   
was okay. Occasionally, he would drift into a slight daze, the world slipping away, but a shock of panic always pulled him out of the fog. 

Michelle had fallen asleep, her head on Matthew’s shoulder. In fact, the only one besides Matthew who was not dozing in their seat was Ludwig. His eyes were on the television, but Matthew didn’t think that he was really watching it. Feliciano was using him as a pillow.

They had all stayed, all night. Matthew wondered if Alfred had any idea of how loved he was. He had a feeling that he didn’t.

A nurse came out of the white door on the opposite end of the waiting room. She was the one who Matthew had been speaking to throughout the night, asking her about Alfred every time she appeared.   
Matthew expected her to go to one of the other people in the crowded waiting room, as she had so many times that night. When she turned and started heading towards him, Matthew’s stomach did dramatic summersaults. 

“Matthew?” she said, her voice lowered to avoid waking everyone, “Your brother is awake. His condition is stable. 

Matthew reflexively brought a hand to his mouth, disturbing Michelle, who opened her eyes dazedly. He felt his eyes fill up with tears of relief. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Thanks so much. Can I see him?’

The nurse sighed, her eyes glinting with an apology. “I’m sorry. We let him know that you’re here, and he told me to tell you that he’s okay. But he doesn’t want to see anyone right now.”

Dammit, Alfred. “Do you think you could convince him?”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

Matthew nodded. Around him, the others were starting to stir at the noise, all beginning to perk up in interest as they realized what was happening.

“Well…” Matthew said, thinking, “Could you tell him…that I love him?”

The woman smiled a little sadly. “Yes, I think I could do that.”

“Thank you.”

Kiku rubbed at his eyes. “What did she say?” 

“He’s okay,” Matthew couldn’t fight the smile that came as he said the words, letting them sink in. There was a collective sigh of relief around the room.

“Jesus,” Lovino said, yawning. “I’m gonna have to beat the shit outta him for what he just put us through.”

A part of Matthew quietly agreed, but it was overcome by a feeling of warmth. There was all the time in the world for them to help Alfred out of this. Matthew knew it wouldn’t be easy. But right now, he   
just wanted to enjoy the fact that he still had a brother. 

It would be better, though, if he could see it for himself.

Michelle seemed to understand his thoughts, and she took his hand. “I’m sure he’ll come around,” she said, “He’s probably just ashamed.”

“He doesn’t have to be.”

“I know.”

Several minutes later of talking with his friends, and the nurse came out again. She was smiling.

“He wants to see you,” she said to Matthew.

Matthew felt relief and happiness and a little fear rush through him. He wondered how Alfred would look, what he would say, what Matthew could say to him. 

“Tell Alfred I said hi!” Feliciano said, filled with energy at the good news. 

“And give him a kick from me,” Lovino added.

Matthew laughed a little, for the first time since he had gotten Michelle’s call. Then he followed the nurse through the white doors, and into a long hallway.

When he stepped inside the room, Alfred was laying on his bed. Matthew hadn’t known what to expect, but Alfred looked pretty normal. He was a little pale, and exhaustion was evident on his face. But   
despite that, it was just Alfred.

“Al,” Matthew ran over to the bed to give him a hug, though the angle was a little awkward. “Oh my god, Al. I was so scared.” He tried to at least stall the flow of his tears, but it didn’t work. They were like a force of nature.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred said weakly, “I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

Alfred didn’t say anything more, just let Matthew hug him for a while. When Matt pulled away, Alfred fell back into his bed, looking weary; almost aged. Matthew struggled to think of what to say.

“Feli says hi,” he said suddenly, remembering. “And Lovino told me to kick you.”

Matthew was happy to see that this brought a small smile to Alfred’s face. “You gonna?” he asked. 

“I might. Maybe when you’re not in a hospital bed.”

Alfred laughed a little more, but then fell silent. His eyes looked glazed and far away. Even when they were talking, Matthew couldn’t help but notice the tired monotone of his brother’s voice, and it frightened him. 

“Is Arthur okay?” Alfred asked. Matthew exhaled; he had yet to hear from his dad about tracking Arthur down, but he didn’t want to out any added stress on Alfred while he was recovering.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” He said diplomatically.

Alfred’s expression was unreadable. “He isn’t here.”

“...I’m sorry, Al.”

Alfred continued to stare ahead of him, not at Matthew or anything in particular, eyes still glassy and unfocused. There was so little inflection in his voice, so little to go by. He looked like all he wanted to   
do was go back to sleep.

“I don’t blame him,” Alfred said. “After everything I did to him….”

Matthew frowned. “I really don’t think it’s like that, Al. I think he just-”

Before Matthew could finish his thought, the nurse came into the room. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “How are you doing, Alfred? Do you need anything?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

The nurse nodded. “You’re already looking a bit better. Also, there’s someone else here asking to see you. Arthur Kirkland?”

Matthew’s head turned quickly back to see Alfred’s reaction, but his brother had turned away.

“He’s probably freaking out, Al,” Matthew said, “I bet he’s dying to see you.”

Alfred closed his eyes tightly, and said nothing. His silence hung in the stiff, sterile air, the fluorescent lights beating down on all of them like a pulse.

Matthew started speaking before he had decided what he could possibly say. “Alfred-” 

The nurse spoke almost simultaneously, running over Matthew’s quiet start with ease. “If you want, I can tell him that right now is a bad time. You should probably be left alone to rest soon, anyway.”

Matthew gave up on whatever half-formed attempt at convincing Alfred that he should let Arthur in. It was difficult, seeing Alfred looking so tired and so broken, to imagine asking very much of him, even   
if it was what he thought was best for Alfred. There was plenty of time for them all to reconcile their relationships- hopefully, forever. The last thing Matthew wanted to do was jeopardize that future by   
once again pushing too hard, too quickly. Good intent meant nothing if he just ended up chasing his brother away.

Matthew was about to ask Alfred if he should leave and let him sleep when Alfred surprised him by opening his eyes. He sighed deeply.

“He can come in, it’s fine,” he said, the tone of his voice saying that he knew an interaction with Arthur was an inevitability. Matthew breathed out cool relief, thinking that a part of Alfred probably wanted   
Arthur by his side now, no matter how hard it would be to face him.

Matthew smiled at his brother, and reached out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze as the nurse nodded and left the room. Alfred gave Matthew what seemed like a hearty attempt at a smile, but painted itself weak and painful on his face. Matthew struggled not to grimace. He wondered when he would be able to see Alfred’s proper smile again.

A few minutes later saw Arthur Kirkland appear at the door to the room. At first, he and Alfred stared at each other, Alfred seeming to shrink farther into his bed under Arthur’s eyes.

But the moment didn’t last very long at all, because Arthur rushed to Alfred nearly as soon as he saw him, his name riding on a breath from Arthur’s lips. He ran to the side of the bed that Matthew wasn’t   
occupying, and wrapped Alfred in a hug that looked potentially painful.

Something about Alfred crumbled. He leaned forward until his head rested on Arthur’s shoulder, returning the embrace, not with the same ferocity of Arthur’s, but with the frail helplessness of a child   
clinging to a parent, his hands clutching the back of Arthur’s shirt. For the first time, a sob broke free of him, all apathy apparently forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred sobbed in to Arthur’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry….”

Arthur rocked Alfred a little. His eyes tightly closing as tears slid down his freckled face in sheets. 

“No, no, it isn’t your fault,” he whispered, “None of it was never your fault. I shouldn’t have let you go.” 

Alfred just shook his head, holding on tighter. Matthew wondered if he should leave them alone.

But after a while, Alfred gently pushed his way out of Arthur’s arms. “I still,” he gasped, “I still don’t know what to do, Arthur, I’m, I’m so scared. I’m so...I don’t know, I don’t know who I am….”

Arthur reached out a hand, and ran a slightly trembling hand to the side of Alfred’s face. He let his thumb brush the bit of blond hair at his temple. 

“It’s alright. It’s alright. We’re all here for you now, Alfred. We’re not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out.”

Arthur looked at Matthew. Matt hadn’t realized that he’d begun crying again, and wiped his eyes before moving closer to his brother.

“He’s right,” Matthew said quietly, “You can’t get rid of us even if you wanted to.”

Alfred let out something between a laugh and a sob. Matthew leaned his head on Alfred’s shoulder, and Arthur took his hand.

For a long time, they stayed. Eventually, Alfred drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

~

“Merry Christmas!” Feliciano said, happily taking the honor of popping a bottle of champagne.

Lovino rolled his eyes, even as he hurried to get a glass. “It isn’t Christmas yet, Feli.”

Feliciano shook his head, leaning in closer to his brother with his hand creating a shield over his mouth. 

“Shh, Lovi,” he whispered, “We’re pretending that it’s Christmas for Alfred. Because he’s going away.”

“I know that, idiota.”

Matthew laughed, looking over to Alfred, who was next to him on Ludwig and Feli’s soft white couch. Alfred smiled a little. The smile still wasn’t right, but Matt thought that maybe it was getting a little   
brighter. He had only just been released from the hospital, and still looked a little weak, but Matthew knew that this would also eventually change. All Alfred needed was a little time.  
Feliciano had made sure to decorate appropriately for their impromptu Christmas party. The room was glowing warmly with lights and candles, all of the other lighting in the house brought down to the dimmest setting. A little three foot Christmas tree sat at the corner of the living room, with presents stacked in haphazard piles underneath it. The coffee table was covered in cookies, all homemade by Laura and Lovino (with a bit of unasked for help from Francis). The apartment was warm, and they were all squished together in the tiny living space. Gentle music played from Ludwig’s laptop. 

They had even invited Natalia and Katyusha over, considering the part they had played in finding Alfred, but they had declined. Katyusha said that they were planning on leaving the city. It seemed like Natalia was ready to move on- Matthew didn’t know much about she and Alfred’s relationship, but he quietly thought that this may be for the best.

Matthew looked over to where his dad was sitting on the floor, next to Arthur. Arthur had a mug of hot tea between his hands, his legs drawn up to his chest. When Feli offered him a glass of champagne, he declined. He and Francis sat close together, although Arthur never seemed to really look at him. Another thing that just needed a little bit of time.

The next day, Alfred was going to rehab. They had asked if he thought it could wait until after Christmas, and he had honestly said that he didn’t think so. So they had decided to put this party together for him. Beyond that, none of them were entirely sure what was going to happen. But they knew that whatever it was, they were going to do it together. Matthew knew with certainty that he wouldn’t have to see his family torn apart again. He wouldn’t allow it to happen.

“It’s time for presents now!” Feliciano said, reaching under the tree. “Hmm, let’s see, this one’s for…Alfred!” He smiled a little mischievously. “Would you look at that?”

Alfred smiled a half-smile, reaching out to take the present a little timidly. Matthew thought that, if they had been able to grow up together, Alfred probably would have been the type of kid to tear all the   
paper off in one go. But now, Alfred took the large box reverently, and unwrapped it as if afraid of what would be inside.

The paper eventually gave way to reveal a picture of a telescope on the front. Alfred froze, some of the wrapping paper still clinging to the box’s edges. 

“It’s from all of us,” Matthew explained, “I thought maybe we could go out somewhere with stars sometime.”

Alfred’s head was bent a little bit forward, his eyes glued to the gift. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I’d…I’d like that.” He looked up at them all and smiled the best he could. Everyone cheered, and when Feliciano raised his glass in a toast, everyone followed. The sound of lightly   
clinking glass rang out across the room.

Matthew kept his eyes on Alfred for most of the night, and could tell that Arthur was doing the same. He knew that his brother wasn’t okay, not yet. He couldn’t exactly blame him. But they were both young. They may have missed out on so many years together, spent so much time wondering and wishing and being lost, alone in the woods and afraid. But now they had the whole rest of their lives to   
make up for it. And Matthew knew, somehow, that Alfred’s life was going to be beautiful.

How could it not be, with so many people who loved him?


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the very end. I know it's short and a little vague, but I like to leave people to have at least some of their own ideas about what happens in the far future, if they want, so this is just a little glimpse. Of course, if anyone wants more details about what happens to everybody, you can always message me here or on tumblr! In fact that would make me very happy.

“Are you sure you have everything you need?”

“Yes mom.”

“Don’t call me that. Do you have your cell phone charger?”

“Yup.”

“Your toothbrush?”

“Yuperoonie,” Alfred smirked at Arthur, shifting the backpack that was slung over his shoulder into a more comfortable spot. “But ya know, I think they probably have those available in California. Just sayin’.”

Arthur scowled. Alfred knew that he shouldn’t be ruffling the poor man’s already fraying nerves, but, as usual, he found it really difficult to resist. Not to mention that the teasing helped hide how nervous he was himself.

He had been pretty scared when he had first gone back to high school- he had been the oldest person in his class, and he’d felt out of place, worried that he wouldn’t be able to figure out school after so many years without it. And even after he’d gotten nearly straight A’s, he’d still been a little apprehensive when he’d started taking classes at a city college. Starting new things was always a little intimidating, even for someone as brave and heroic as Alfred.

But now he was going to a college on the other side of the country. He was leaving everyone behind, his friends and his family and his life, in favor of starting out on his own. What would happen from here was uncertain, and Alfred was filled with both hope and apprehension. But either way, he knew that the people he loved would always be there for him. And he, in turn, would always come back to them. 

“Please go easy on Arthur,” Francis said, chuckling and putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “He is just very worried.”

Arthur looked away obstinately. “I’m not worried.”

Francis didn’t say anything. He just smiled and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s temple. 

“You’d better start running now, Al,” Matthew piped up, “I don’t think either of them are actually planning on letting you leave.”

Alfred laughed. “I think I could take them, if it came to that.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Don’t get cocky, now.”

“You wanna go, old man?”

Francis sighed. “I really don’t think the two of you wrestling in an international airport is how we planned to send Alfred off to university.”

“It sounds pretty appropriate to me,” Alfred said, “But I think I should probably get going unless I wanna miss my plane. Not that it would take me very long to take you down….”

Arthur scoffed, but this line of conversation was soon deflected by Francis reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone.

“Picture time!” he declared. Alfred, Arthur, and Matthew groaned. “Come on, this is an important moment! Now get together and act like you love each other.”

With significantly more grumbling and eye-rolling, they all got together enough to fit into the frame. Francis took a picture of the three of them, and then moved to take a selfie with them in the  
background. He then proceeded to take several more.

“Francis, for Christ’s sake,” Arthur said, “He’s going to miss his flight because you can’t stop taking pictures of yourself.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Francis snapped one last picture. “Alright, that is it. Time to say goodbye.”

Alfred set his suitcase down on the floor, and went over to hug Francis.

“Take good care of yourself, mon petite oiseau,” Francis said quietly, “Do not forget to eat vegetables. And call us whenever you can.” He pulled back and gave Alfred a kiss on both cheeks. “I know you will  
do amazing. I love you. We’ll see you at Christmastime.”

Alfred nodded. “Thanks, Papa. I love you too.” He moved on to Matthew next.

“Bye,” Matthew said, “I’m gonna miss you. Do good science.”

Alfred laughed. “Alright, I’ll try. Love you, bro.”

“Love you too.”

And then there was Arthur. For a moment, he wouldn’t look at Alfred. But then he flung himself at him in a crushing hug. Before Alfred could hardly register it, it was over, and Arthur was looking into his  
eyes with a slightly threatening expression.

“Please be careful,” he said, “Don’t…just don’t. Do anything. Just stay in your room and study and eat and sleep, and nothing else.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Can I go to the bathroom? Is that on the list?”

Arthur laughed, his eyes a little watery. “I suppose, if you have to.”

Alfred pulled him into a less abrupt hug, unsatisfied with the last one. “I’ll stay out of trouble. I promise.”

“I know. I trust you, I really do.”

Alfred drew himself up a little with pride. They broke the hug, and Alfred reached to get his luggage, looking away so as to hide his tears. After all, this wasn’t supposed to be a sad occasion. He was just  
beginning another step in his life. From now on, he was only going to look forward.

Alfred gave on last wave to his family as he headed towards the line. Francis had one arm around Matthew and one around Arthur. They were all a little teary, but Alfred knew that they would be okay.

And he would be, too. In fact, he would be better than okay. 

Alfred had everything he needed. He was doing what he loved, and, more importantly, he was surrounded by people who loved him. 

As Alfred checked his bags, hearing his family bicker as they tried to drag themselves out of the airport, Alfred didn’t just feel like he was going to survive.

He felt like the luckiest person on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! I hope you have all enjoyed this story, and thank you again for all of your amazing support!!


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